


The Finest One

by sinemoras09



Category: Fate/Zero, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Left-handed character, Loneliness, Loss, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-21 10:10:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 25,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4824959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinemoras09/pseuds/sinemoras09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Waver summons Lancer instead of Rider. Gen. Spoilers for Fate/Zero. Complete.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this story is from the song, "Eat You Up," by BoA: "Boy you got to be the finest thing in history," which I thought was appropriate :)
> 
> Originally this was going to be a oneshot, but after 20+ pages of text, I decided to split this into multiple chapters and expand the story. Also, this should go without saying, but I'm taking some liberties with Diarmuid's legend, since Urobuchi's Diarmuid already has differences from the figure depicted in the Fenian Cycle.
> 
> Excerpts about Diarmuid's life taken from _Gods and Fighting Men: the story of the Tuatha de Danaan and the Fianna of Ireland_ by Lady Gregory, found [here](http://www.gutenberg.org/files/14465/14465-h/14465-h.htm). Quote about Enkidu taken from the Epic of Gilgamesh [here](https://www.cs.utexas.edu/users/vl/notes/gilgamesh.html).

"Okay, first of all, we need to do something about your face," Waver said.

Lancer watched quietly as Waver hefted a large book and dropped it loudly onto the table.

"So, the thing to do about a curse is try to negate it somehow. You were born with it, so no barriers or mana cancellations will work. And it's not as if we can cover it with a bandaid or tape. We'll have to overlay another curse on top of it, something strong enough to negate its effects," Waver said.

"I see," Lancer said. Waver frowned, flipping hastily through the pages.

"That's it!" Waver said. He tapped his finger on the page. "I'm going to give you the Curse of Repulsiveness."

"...I beg your pardon?"

"I'm going to curse you so that any woman who looks at you will be physically repulsed," Waver said. "This will work. If I lay it on top of your love spot, it should negate any charm magic that's coming off of it. So your curse should be gone."

"I see!" Lancer said. He smiled, broadly. "My lord, I look forward to this! Please show me how this magic is done!"

"No problem," Waver said, and he rolled up his sleeves.

 

*****

 

Unfortunately, Waver made the curse a little too strong.

"Um, so..." the female cashier shifted, uncomfortably. "What...uh, happened to your friend?"

"Huh?" Waver said. Behind him, Lancer was perusing a shelf, picking up a few take-out rice balls. The cashier winced and shuddered.

"Nothing happened," Waver said. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh," the cashier said. "So he was born...looking like _that_?"

Waver looked back at Lancer again. If anything, Lancer looked pretty good-looking, tall and lean, the fabric of his shirt stretched tightly over broad shoulders and the muscles of his arms and torso. _I should get him a bigger shirt_ , Waver thought, frowning. Lancer caught his eye and waved merrily.

"What do you see?" Waver asked, carefully. The look of sheer horror certainly didn't match the cheerful man who was delightedly picking through bento boxes and setting them in his basket.

"Why, his face!" the cashier said. She shuddered again. "He's so disfigured! It looks like he was doused with acid."

"Uh..."

"And that _smell_ ," she said. "It smells like filth and rotting sewage."

"Um..."

Servants certainly didn't smell like anything, not that Waver was up to sniffing Lancer's armpits or anything stupid like that. And if anything, he knew Lancer was playing around with Mackenzie's cologne earlier, even though Waver told the idiot not to splash the whole bottle on himself, except that Lancer had never seen cologne, since apparently that stuff was reserved for kings or high nobility and Lancer was just a wandering knight.

The problem here, obviously, was that Waver Velvet was Too Good at magic. Ordinarily he would be flushed with pride that he had overcome a centuries-old curse with a few simple incantations, but this was proving to be a bit too much. He sighed and wished he had taken things down a notch.

"My lord! They have these fruit-flavored beverages I thought we could try." Lancer came up behind him, waving around a bottle of grape calpico and stuffing it in his basket. "Furthermore, these rice balls look delicious. Did you know they have bits of crab meat stuffed in them? I look forward to trying them! Er..." Lancer blinked. That curly lock of hair bounced cutely over his forehead.

"Oh," Lancer said, looking the woman. "I beg your pardon."

And he smiled brightly at the woman, who proceeded to duck and hide behind the register.

 

*****

 

"Well that was certainly different," Lancer said, smiling. He was carrying a bag of groceries in each hand, smiling broadly.

"You're not mad?" Waver said.

"Mad?" Lancer said. "Why should I be angry when my lord has blessed me with such a glorious gift?"

"Huh," Waver said, as a mother grabbed her daughter and covered the girl's eyes. "So...this is good for you, seriously?"

"The curse I was born with unduly burdened me with the attentions of the opposite sex." A woman shrieked and dove into an alley. Lancer smiled. "It is quite refreshing to have the opposite effect."

"I see," Waver said, doubtfully.

"Excuse me, but there are _children_ , here," a woman said, testily, while behind her a line of schoolchildren cowered behind her back.

Waver facepalmed.

 

******

 

Saber blinked, then frowned. Then blinked and shook her head.

"Revulsion magecraft," Saber said. She squinted. "And...charm magic?"

Waver had never seen someone look so thoroughly confused.

"My apologies," Lancer said. He was clearly enjoying his effect on Saber a little too much. "I was born with this curse, which my lord has augmented. I'm afraid there's nothing I can do about it. You can blame my birth or the fact that you were born a woman."

Saber grimaced and shook her head; behind her, Irisviel retched politely behind her hand.


	2. Chapter 2

There is always a momentary bit of disorientation after a Servant is summoned from the Grail. A whirling dark, a sudden gust of wind, the sensation of falling into a vortex of spinning blackness, until waking up, reconstituted, sparks of mana floating in the air.

He looked around. The forest was dark but the trees were traced with starlight. There was a low fog that settled heavily on the ground.

And then he saw it: the figure of a boy, squeezing his eyes and covering his ears with his hands.

He was supposed to say, _I ask of you, are you my Master_ , but the boy sprang to his feet and said, "You're my Servant, right?"

Diarmuid blinked. "Well?" the boy said. Diarmuid nodded, gravely.

"Indeed," Diarmuid said, and he gave him a low sweeping bow. "I, Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, Lancer-class Servant and First Knight of the Knights of Fianna, have answered your call for the Grail."

"R-right." The boy twitched, nervously. "Uh...you can get up now," the boy said.

"I thank you, my lord," Diarmuid said, and he straightened. His lord frowned and fiddled with his sleeves.

It didn't take Diarmuid long to figure out that the boy - Waver Velvet - did not like being called lord. In fact, "My Lord," "My Liege," "My Liege Lord," and even "Sir," seemed to make the boy uncomfortable.

"Just call me 'Master,' if you're so bent on calling me something," Waver said. "And stop kneeling! Whenever you do that it's just weird and awkward."

"But my lord--er, Master...I only wish to give you the respect that you deserve."

"Ugh, whatever!" Waver said, but Diarmuid could see the faint traces of a blush rising on Waver's cheeks.

The boy seemed most at ease when Diarmuid was in spirit form. It was probably easier to think of him as a familiar that way, and wordlessly Diarmuid obliged. He followed the boy around the city, silently mapping out the terrain and familiarizing himself with the city's landmarks: the mouth of the Mion river, the shops and busy streets, all potential battlegrounds for the conflict to come. "Why aren't you saying anything?" Waver said, suddenly.

_Master?_

"Like, why aren't you talking? It's really weird. Like I feel this magical energy following me, it's like I'm being followed by a ghost."

_Forgive me, my lo- Master. I did not mean to make you feel uncomfortable, but I was concerned about the curse of my love spot. Shall I take physical form instead?_

"Not now, you don't have civilian clothes on, people are going to stare."

Diarmuid followed Waver silently. Waver furrowed his brow.

"We should probably get you some clothes in case you do need to materialize," Waver said, after a long moment. "Ne, Lancer. What size do you think you wear?"

_Size?_

"Like, measurements?" Waver walked into a department store and started thumbing through a rack. "Do you think this would fit you?"

_I'm not sure, my lord. Er, Master. Perhaps I should have to try them on?_

"I'm not wasting mana for you to materialize, just tell me if you think this would fit."

_Ah...I believe so. But I am not familiar with modern clothing, so I am not entirely sure._

"Good enough," Waver said, and he stuck the shirt in his basket.

Unfortunately, the shirts his lord picked were a little too tight around the neck and arms, but Diarmuid was able to solve this problem by cleverly cutting a tiny slit along the collar of the neck and sleeves. He was rather pleased with himself - men of his time had no skill with tailoring and he was unsure how to use modern scissors. Of course, the Grail gave him adequate enough knowledge of the modern world - for instance, he was fairly certain he could drive a car or navigate the subway if he had to - but even though he was aware of what scissors were used for, he wasn't entirely sure _how_ to use them.

And so it was that Diarmuid spent an inordinate time staring at a pair of his lord's scissors, frowning a little at the two loops (finger holes?) and finally resigning to opening the blades and using the sharpened edge to scrape tears into the fabric. He would have felt more comfortable splitting the fabric with the edge of his spear, were he not afraid of accidentally rending the shirt completely in half.

His lord, unfortunately, did not much care for Diarmuid's ingenuity.

"Why did you cut them?" Waver said. He snatched the other shirts from Diarmuid's hand "You idiot! You're not the Hulk, we could have returned them," Waver said. Diarmuid frowned.

"...Hulk?" Diarmuid said. Waver sighed, exasperated.

"Are you serious? I thought the Grail gave you knowledge of the modern era," Waver said. "Also, what were you doing with those scissors? That's not how you use them."

"I...er, tried putting my fingers into the handle here, but the blades did not close properly," Diarmuid said.

Waver rolled his eyes, then turned on his computer. He typed into the keyboard and showed him the image. " _That_ ," Waver said, and he turned the monitor toward him, "is the Hulk."

Diarmuid laughed, delighted. "Ah!" Diarmuid said. "He is large and green and his clothes do not fit him!"

"It wasn't a compliment, idiot, give me back my scissors."

He handed him back the scissors, then sat back on the bed, wondering if he should shift back into spirit form or if his lord would rather he keep him company. He waited a few moments, watching as Waver worked on the computer - tracking ley lines and marking places of spiritual power, evidently - before picking the scissors back up in his hand.

"My lo- Master," Diarmuid said, correcting himself. "May I ask you a question?"

"What is it?" Waver was busy typing on the keyboard.

"How do you use these?" Diarmuid said.

"What? These scissors?" Waver took the scissors from him and stuck his fingers and his thumb into the handles. Unlike when Diarmuid tried it, the blades closed properly when he pressed his fingers and thumb together. "It's pretty easy, I don't get why you were having so much trouble," Waver said. He cut a piece of paper in half to show him.

Diarmuid frowned and tried holding them again. The blades pried apart when he closed his fingers into the handle, and the paper awkwardly folded over the blade. "They still do not cut," Diarmuid said. Waver sighed.

"You're using the wrong hand, dummy, use your right hand." And then, as if realizing what he said, Waver turned.

"You're left-handed," Waver said. Diarmuid cocked his head.

"...is that so unusual?" Diarmuid said.

"I'm just surprised. I thought people didn't like being left-handed in your time, you know, since they're the Devil's leftie and that sort of thing. I thought it was discouraged," Waver said.

"Well I _was_ cursed at birth," Diarmuid said. Waver looked at him doubtfully. "I do try to use my right hand most of the time. But for new things I find my left to be easier." Diarmuid picked up the scissors with his right hand, carefully. "Hm. The blades really do fit better when you cut with your right hand, don't they?" Diarmuid said.

"Give me that," Waver said, and he took away the scissors. "By the way," Waver said. "You never did tell me your wish."

"Wish?"

"What you want to do if we win the Holy Grail."

 _If_ , not when, Diarmuid noted to himself. His Master was definitely the cautious type. Diarmuid smiled. "I only wish to serve by my Master's side and battle beside him honorably," Diarmuid said. "In that regard, I suppose the Grail has already granted my wish."

"Huh?" Waver said. "What kind of stupid wish is that, anyway?"

"You yourself do not have a wish," Diarmuid said.

"That's different! I have my reputation at stake!" Waver said.

"As do I," Diarmuid said. He folded the shirt over his arm, quietly. "In life, I failed to live up to the standards of chivalry I swore to uphold. I only seek to rectify my failings."

"Well I bet you've never had to serve a lord as young as me though, right?" Waver said. He wasn't looking at him. A shadow had fallen over Waver's eyes.

In battle, Diarmuid could easily read his enemy, his intuition and finely honed instincts allowing him to avoid any potential traps. But here he failed to detect the slight note of bitterness in his Master's voice, and answered him accordingly:

"Well, certainly I was surprised by your age, but thus far I have no complaints about your abilities," Diarmuid said. Waver's eyes narrowed.

"So it's true, you _were_ disappointed with me," Waver said, and Diarmuid became aware of his misstep. "Well?" Waver said. "It's no wonder you're disappointed. You could have had someone more experienced. Someone who knows what they're doing!"

"Not at all," Diarmuid said, quickly. "I have been acquainted with other lords and ladies much younger than yourself. That is a station with which you were born. Age and experience are not requisite to being sovereign."

"So you're saying it doesn't matter that I'm young, you'll just blindly serve whoever, right?"

"Ah..."

"Tch. Whatever." Waver crossed his arms. "Unfortunately for you, you're stuck with me. Okay? So sorry you couldn't have a greater lord!"

Waver was glaring and staring furiously at the ground. Diarmuid hesitated, suddenly unsure.

"My lor-" Diarmuid corrected himself. "Master. I meant no disrespect. Please forgive me for offending you."

Diarmuid kneeled quickly, showing his contrition. Waver huffed.

"Stand up, you idiot, I told you I'm not a lord."

Diarmuid stood, uncertainly. He watched as Waver shifted his weight from one foot to the other, glaring angrily at the floor.

"It's just that," Waver began, and he glared. "It's just that you're intimidating, all right?" Waver said.

Diarmuid blinked. "Intimidating?" Diarmuid said. Waver blushed and glared.

"You're like, ridiculously good-looking, you're tall and heroic and...stuff. And I'm just this twerpy dweeby kid who summoned you! The relic I used wasn't even mine, I stole it from someone else. And you're telling me you just want to fight some glorious battle by my side?" Waver said. "C'mon, let's be honest, here. If I were you, I'd be really disappointed," Waver said.

"But that is not so!" Diarmuid said. "You are wise beyond your years and highly skilled and knowledgeable! You corrected me on the use of these scissors," Diarmuid said.

"I'm starting to think maybe this was a bad idea," Waver said, and he sagged, heavily. "I just wanted to show them - I just wanted to prove that I could do it! Those bastards at the Clock Tower think they're all high and mighty...but maybe they're right. Maybe I shouldn't even be doing this."

"You feel inadequate," Diarmuid said. It wasn't a question. Waver looked up at him, wonderingly. "But, my lo- Er. Master. It is true that lords and ladies are born into their station. But from what I gather, magi are the product of their talent and hard work. That to me seems by far more admirable."

"Really?" Waver looked up. Diarmuid smiled.

"Indeed," Diarmuid said. "For one to summon a Servant at such a young age belies an incredible talent. I consider myself lucky if that is the case."

"Well, your luck rank is actually really low, so..." Waver pushed back a strand of hair, frowning. "You...you really don't mind? That you're serving someone as lowly as me?"

"You are my Master," Diarmuid said. He smiled. "If you are lowly, then certainly I must be lower."

"That doesn't really make me feel better," Waver said, doubtfully. Diarmuid smiled broadly.

"In any case," Diarmuid said, and he extended a hand. "I realize this is a few days late, but I look forward to working with you. May our battles be filled with luck and good fortune."

"Right," Waver said. He shook it, tentatively. "Uh, by the way," Waver said, and he cleared his throat. "If you want to call me your lord, I guess I'm okay with that..."

"Truly?" Diarmuid said. Waver blushed and glared.

"Look! I'm just letting you because you get tripped up whenever you try to call me 'Master.' And stop smiling!" Waver said. "You look like a little kid, calling someone 'your lord' shouldn't make you that happy, okay?"

"My apologies, my lord!" Diarmuid said, happily.

" _Please_ don't wave around those scissors," Waver said.


	3. Chapter 3

They were walking back to the Mackenzie household. Around them, the streets of Fuyuki were quiet, the hollow moon hanging above them like a fat earbob. Their footsteps echoed along the hard concrete, and Waver watched as Lancer absently tapped his spears along the signposts along the road.

As it turned out, Lancer didn't have very good stats. Other than his agility and his ability to think his way around his terrible luck, his strength and other qualities were hopelessly average.

_That is true, my lord, but I daresay my fighting prowess is equal if not better than Saber's._

Lancer's voice in his head, even though Lancer was walking beside him. Waver sighed, heavily. He had forgotten they shared a telepathic bond.

They had just finished fighting Saber. Well, "dueling" would be the more accurate term, the battle devolving into a good-natured sparring match. "While there is no honor in a battle fought without an exchange of names, allow me to offer my regards," Lancer said. "It is impressive for a woman to fight this much without even breaking a sweat."

"You need not be so humble, Lancer," Saber said. "Even without knowing your name, words from such a master of the spear do me honor. I accept them gratefully."

"Um," Waver said. "Does that mean you guys are done fighting, now?"

"That all depends on my Master," Saber said, and she glanced back at Irisviel. Irisviel smiled.

"I don't see why we need to continue," Irisviel said, smiling.

They ended at a draw with Saber and Lancer exchanging pleasantries, Saber beaming up at him despite the (newly cursed) repulsive nature of Lancer's face. They left on good terms, and Lancer wouldn't stop smiling.

"She's an enemy, stupid, you shouldn't be grinning like that," Waver said. "And by the way? I just expended like, all my mana for your stupid sparring match. We didn't even kill an enemy today," Waver said.

"I cannot help myself," Lancer said, and his smile widened. "It is rare to battle so skilled a rival! I look forward to crossing arms with her once more!"

"Your stamina is terrible," Waver said, because he was tired and grouchy and he felt like complaining. "And how come you fight with two spears, anyway? Any idiot knows you're supposed to use two hands!"

Lancer smiled. "It is to confuse the enemy," Lancer said.

"Huh?"

"What can be done with two swords is not easily accomplished with two spears." Lancer smiled. "The enemy will likely expect a feint. After all, a spear is a weapon normally wielded with two hands. However, should you master the technique, fighting with two spears can be quite advantageous." He twirled his spear around, thoughtfully.

"A spear may be used to thrust and cover a broad area repelling the enemy. However, should the enemy break through its defenses and step into close range, it would be very easy to counter and strike before the spearman can adjust. Two spears, however, negate this. The long spear, like so, can swing and cover a broad area for long-range attacks. The short spear can thrust, stabbing the enemy at close-range. In this way, two spears are better than one."

Lancer seemed very proud of this. Waver frowned and scratched his head.

"Yeah, but..." Waver frowned. "Doesn't it tire you out?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I mean, your stamina sucks. And you're waving around two heavy spears on top of it."

"Ah, well--"

"And don't tell me you weren't getting tired, I'm not a warrior or whatever, but even I could tell your attacks were getting slow."

"Er, well typically I am able to finish them off before that happens," Lancer said. He smiled, his eyes creasing into two adorable half-moons: "Saber was just that excellent an opponent."

Waver sighed, heavily. "Oi, Lancer," Waver said. "These are other Servants you're going after, not just some run-of-the-mill goons. If I were you, I would have just used your Noble Phantasm. Just jab her real quick with that yellow spear and run away. Then you could engage her when she's really wounded, or else wait for another enemy to finish her off."

"That would not be very honorable," Lancer said, frowning. "Furthermore, I respect her far too much to play such petty tricks on her."

"I get it, I get it, I was just thinking out loud," Waver said. "When would you use your Noble Phantasms, anyway? Neither of them seem to be particularly fair play."

"Hm. Well I suppose I would use them in times of mortal peril," Lancer said. "If my lord's life is in danger, then the rules of chivalry are forfeit. I would protect you with my dying breath," Lancer said.

"What if your own life were in danger?" Waver said.

"My life is worth nothing if I am unable to protect my lord," Lancer said.

"Ugh, I was afraid you'd say that." Waver frowned and crossed his arms. "Look. I don't want you to go sacrificing yourself for me, okay? I'm in this war too, and for it to mean anything I need to put my life on the line. I can't just spend the war hiding behind my Servant. Got it?"

"I will try my best to remember," Lancer said.

 

*****

 

For some reason, they kept running into Saber and her Master in town.

"Do not be a stranger, Lancer," Saber said, smiling. "You are welcome to join us for lunch."

"Ah, but Saber. I did not wish to disturb you and your lady," Lancer said. Beside them, Irisviel politely kept her eyes fixed away from Lancer's face, quietly holding her breath and covering her nose. Saber leaned forward, offering them a chair.

"You should not be so unfamiliar. Did we not share our passions together last night?"

"Indeed we did," Lancer said. "To be sure, my heart pounded steadily when you peeled away your armor."

"As did mine with the thrusts of your spear," Saber said.

"Um," Waver said, before their conversation could veer into the embarrassingly pornagraphic. "You guys _are_ talking about that fight you had last night, right?" Saber and Lancer looked up at him, frowning.

"Of course we are," Saber said. "What else could we be talking about?" Waver reddened. Irisviel giggled.

"Waver-kun. You should just let them talk." Irisviel winked. "Earlier Saber was explaining her A-rank riding ability. Saber, do you mind telling Waver-kun what you told me?"

"Why, I was merely explaining to Irisviel that so long as I could take the reigns and mount it between my legs, instinct and intuition will surely take over."

"Huh?!" Waver said. Irisviel giggled.

"I do not see why Irisviel finds that so funny," Saber said.

"Neither do I," Lancer said. "Perhaps it is because we are not from this time?"

"I suspect that to be the case," Saber said. Waver groaned.

He glanced at his watch. Saber and Lancer were talking excitedly about battle tactics, absolutely paying no mind to the fact that they were supposed to be enemies. Waver really ought to be scolding him, but as far as things went, Saber and her Master seemed harmless enough.

"Are there no other Masters here?" Waver said, glancing around. Irisviel smiled and shrugged.

"It seems you and I are the first to arrive," Irisviel said. "Of course, the Matous and the Tohsakas have their strongholds within the confines of the city. But neither of them have made a move, so..." she smiled. "At least we can enjoy ourselves, for now."

"Huh," Waver said. Irisviel smiled gently.

"I know you and I are technically enemies," Irisviel said. "But Saber has been so happy since she met your Lancer. I think they would make excellent friends."

"They do seem to have a lot in common," Waver said, frowning. Irisviel seemed to know what he was thinking, because she smiled gently.

"I know we may have to fight each other someday," Irisviel said. "But there's no reason not to be friendly until then, is there?"

"I guess not," Waver said.

 

*****

 

They walked back from town, scouting for clues about the other Servants in the area.

"Perhaps we can enter in an alliance," Lancer said. "Saber and I would work well together, and her Master seems like an upstanding young woman."

"They wouldn't have anything to gain from it," Waver said. "First of all, besides your agility rank, you're average at best, and I'm not exactly a top-tier magus. They'd be stupid if they wanted to ally with us. We'd only drag them down. But not only that," Waver said, and he hesitated. Lancer tilted his head.

"She's an enemy we'll have to defeat, sooner or later."

Lancer looked at him quietly, and for a moment Waver could see the face that was the stuff of legends: dark hair against pale skin, the pools of his eyes setting into something like sorrow.

"I promise you, my lord," Lancer said, and his eyes slid upwards.

"When the time comes, Saber will fall by my spear."


	4. Chapter 4

Night fell like a thick black curtain over Fuyuki, and Lancer made his way to the rooftop to keep watch. At first there was nothing: just soft night sounds, the silver haze of moonlight and the yellow tangle of electric lights from the city below them. But then there was a flare of mana, sharp bursts of power cutting through the sky like tiny blades.

"Do you sense it, my lord?" Lancer asked. He squinted his eyes, looking closer. "A Servant is challenging us."

"Can you sense where it's coming from?" Waver asked. Lancer shook his head.

"All I can tell you is that it's coming from the east. But my lord: it seems there is more than one Servant there."

"Anyone we know?" Waver said.

Lancer looked back at Waver, a slight gust of wind blowing in his hair.

"I am not sure," Lancer said. Waver leaned on his knees and stood.

"Well," Waver said. "I guess there's only one way to find out."

 

*****

 

They ended up fighting both Rider and Berserker.

Lancer ran. His body pitched forward, just barely blocking the blow from Rider, Berserker closing in on him from behind.

"Lancer!" Waver said. "To your right!" and Lancer whipped around, narrowly avoiding the blow.

Rider had stopped his sword.

"Rider," Lancer said. Rider was shaking. There was a shadow over his eyes, but Lancer could see the man gritting his teeth, trying to withstand the command spell his Master had given him.

" _What's wrong, Rider?_ " Kayneth's voice boomed. " _I told you already: help Berserker kill him._ "

"Lancer," Rider said. His voice was strained. "I'm sorry."

And an explosion of lightning burst in front of him.

Concrete exploded, throwing shards of rock and detritus upwards and falling around him, the large hooves of Rider's chariot pounding and slamming into the pavement. Lancer leapt forward and barely avoided getting rammed over, the side of his ribs crunching against spikes on wheels.

"Lancer!" Waver said, and he healed him. Lancer felt the bruises on his ribs receding.

"Thank you, my lord!" Lancer said. He hefted his spears.

He has fought multiple enemies before. Has faced hundreds of soldiers, has found himself outflanked many times. But this was entirely different. To his left, Berserker tore through the air at impossible speeds, swinging wildly, everything he was touching turning lethal and black. To his right, Rider's Gordius Wheel swung and ripped a path toward him, the spikes of the chariot's wheels nearly impaling him. As a Servant, Lancer was blessed with unnatural speed, but even with this, he could barely keep up. Were it not for his agility, he would have been killed a thousand times over.

Lancer whipped around, looking for a way through them. He ran but Beserker smashed his way in front of him, thrashing the buildings and tearing off one of the streetlights, aiming for him.

A crash. Lancer dove head-first, escaping the blow, only to find himself in the path of the on-coming chariot. Waver started.

"Lancer!"

Lancer's eyes widened.

Beserker grabbed onto his golden spear.

"What!" Waver started. Anything Berserker touched became his Noble Phantasm. Even if it belonged to another Servant's. He saw Lancer twist his body, eyes widening with horror at the realization that Gae Buidhe, the golden body of his spear, had started swirling with black, the gleam of the blade turning ashen and burning black like coal.

Berserker roared and charged forward.

The ox screamed. Hooves pounded on pavement. And the blade of Gae Buidhe, the Golden Rose of Mortality, smashed into Lancer's shoulder and sliced through the meat of Lancer's arm.

Lancer slammed heavily against the ground, his spears clattering beside him.

"Lancer!" Waver started towards him.

"Stay back!" Lancer said. Waver stopped. It was the only time Lancer had openly defied him. "My lord. Berserker used my Noble Phantasm against me," Lancer said. He stood and Waver could see the gash on Lancer's left arm, blood dripping down his hand and onto the pavement. "I fear he has severed the tendons of my arm. I cannot move my thumb or fingers."

Waver stared at him, stricken.

The ox cantered to a stop, the chariot swinging gently, while behind them Berserker crouched, a dustcloud of black blowing around him.

"Lancer," Waver said. "Break your spear. You won't be able to heal unless you destroy it!"

"I cannot," Lancer said. His face was pale. "My lord, without the use of my left hand, I will not be able to break this spear."

"Oh no," Waver said. Across from them, Berserker roared.

Waver saw Lancer heft his red spear with his non-dominant hand.

Lancer was a dual-wielder. He was used to wielding his spears with one hand. And yet...

_And yet his stamina sucks, he's not right-handed, and Beserker and Rider are going for the kill!_

Lancer picked up his spear and took a stance. "I shall hold them off," Lancer said. "My lord. Please use this opportunity to get to safety."

"What? I'm not leaving here! You're injured and-"

"My lord! I am begging you!" Lancer said.

Beserker and Rider charged forward.

The strikes happened faster than Waver could see it: one golden flash, then another, the sound of metal clashing in the air. Beserker let out a scream, thrashing his body before dissolving into a swirl of black mist. On the ground, Lancer looked up, eyes unfocused, trying to make out the silver-blue figure standing in front of him.

"That is some shoddy spearwork, my friend."  
  
Saber stepped in front of them, lifting her sword.

Waver's eyes widened. "Saber!"

Saber grinned at them, then turned.

"Master of Rider!" Saber said. "Our mad friend has already withdrawn. If you do not call back Rider, I shall assist Lancer and together we shall defeat your Servant readily. What say you, Master of Rider?" Saber said. She gripped her sword. "Choose carefully your words."

Waver glanced around, apprehensively.

" _Withdraw, Rider._ " The irritation was evident in Kayneth's voice. " _That's enough for tonight._ "

The shadow disappeared from Rider's eyes.

"How annoying," Rider said. He sighed. "King of Knights. You have my thanks. I want you even more for my armies now."

"Watch yourself, King of Conquerors," Saber said. "Or I shall repay your insolence tenfold."

"I look forward to it," Rider said, and he shifted into spirit form, a cloud of blue mana wafting behind him.


	5. Chapter 5

"Stupid E-rank luck," Waver said. He was wrapping a bandage around Diarmuid's arm. "I've never heard of a Heroic Spirit being done in by his own Noble Phantasm! I mean, seriously? What the hell!"

Diarmuid's face burned. He had never felt more shame than this. The spear had cut a huge gash into his forearm and his shoulder was dislocated, and while Waver was able to pop his shoulder back in - mostly with Saber's help - the wound to his arm could not be so easily dealt with.  "Forgive me, my lord," Diarmuid said. His shoulders hunched, eyes fixed forward on the floor."It was an ability I had not anticipated."

"Yeah, well, you're lucky I can suture, you know that?" Waver tugged hard on the bandage, making Diarmuid wince. A new splotch of blood seeped through the gauze. "Ugh, is it seriously going to keep bleeding?" Waver unwrapped the dressing again, frowning at the fresh spot of oozing blood. "I think it cut through an artery. Geez, how are you even still here? With a wound like this you should have bled to death already."

"Forgive me, my lord," Diarmuid said, and he hung his head. "I fear I am using more mana to compensate."

"Well it is a pretty good cut." Waver frowned. The wound sliced deep into the tendons of Lancer's arm, severing muscle and hitting into bone. It was a wonder his arm didn't get cut clean off - if not for Lancer's arm guards, the spear would have easily lopped his hand off. "I mean, at least you still have your hand, so there's that," Waver said. Lancer sagged even more.

They tried destroying Lancer's spear. They tried using a command spell - they overcome the limits of flesh and blood, Waver figured maybe they would magically heal Lancer's arm or at the very least let him break his spear. Waver tried to be clever about it - _By my command spell, either heal yourself completely or destroy this golden spear_ \- but apparently it was only enough to staunch the blood and give Lancer the inexplicable urge to hurl his spear off the roof. ("That's not going to break it, idiot! Put it down!" Waver said.)

Saber even offered to help. "I have a Noble Phantasm that will allow me to break this," Saber said. She hesitated. "However, there is a chance you may get caught up in the blast, as well."

"Let's not try that," Waver said, because knowing their luck Lancer would get his head blown off in the process.

"At the very least, it is only your left hand which was injured," Saber said, in a sincere effort to cheer him up. Lancer just looked even more depressed.

"Actually, Saber. I favor the use of my left hand."

"...Oh."

In his head, Waver could imagine Kayneth laughing, mocking them.

_How pathetic, a Servant done in by his own Noble Phantasm! It is as expected, Master Velvet!_

"If it weren't for that damn Berserker," Waver muttered, and he taped up the bandage. Lancer's eyes were downcast and dim.

"Unfortunately, you won't be able to shift into spirit form," Waver said. "With a wound like this it'll keep bleeding mana. It's probably better if you stay materialized, that way I can keep an eye on your arm."

"But what of the Mackenzies?" Lancer said. Waver frowned.

"I don't suppose you can hide?" Waver said. There was a knock on the door.

"Waver-chan? What are you doing?" It was Martha. "I heard voices, is something wrong?"

"Uh!" Waver jumped up. He motioned to Lancer, frantically.

"My lord, what--"

" _Hide_ ," Waver hissed, and pushed him into the closet.

"Just a second!" Waver said, and he ran toward the door. "G-grandma! Hi! Uh, sorry! I was just watching TV--"

"What is that smell?" Martha said, making a face.

And then Waver remembered: _That stupid curse!_ Waver wasn't sure what women saw when they looked at him, but he had an idea: someone deformed, with skin sloughing off and the stench of something decaying. Waver watched as Martha sniffed the air, frowning.

"It smells like something is rotting in here, Waver. When was the last time you cleaned your room?"

"Uh..."

There was a noticeable _thump_ inside the closet - Lancer probably banging his head against a shelf. "What was that?" Martha said.

"N-nothing! I think it was a cat! A cat outside! Um," Waver licked his lips. "Grandma don't open that door."

"Waver, what on earth--"

Martha opened the door, coming face-to-face with Lancer.

There was an awful moment where neither of them did anything. Lancer froze, like a deer in headlights, while Martha just stared at him, her eyes growing wider and wider.

 _Oh no_. Waver thought. _Oh no, oh no, oh no..._

Martha dropped her things and screamed.

"Shit!" Waver said, and he jumped up toward Lancer.

"A vagabond!" Martha said. Lancer ducked and tried to run but Martha grabbed a broom. "A vagabond! A vagabond! Glen! Glen! _Help!_ "

"My lady! Calm yourself!" Lancer threw his hands up, shielding himself as she whacked him with a broom. "I mean you no harm!"

"Call the police, Waver!" Martha said. She clocked Lancer hard across the face. "Waver call the police!"

Lancer stumbled, pitching sideways and slamming into Waver's desk. The computer monitor rocked, tumbling onto the floor.

"Glen!" Martha was screaming. "Glen! _Glen_!"

"Grandma! Grandma! _Sleep_!" Waver said, and Martha dropped hard against the wooden floor.

There was the sound of footsteps pounding up the stairs. "Martha?" Glen was running. "Martha, what's going on?"

" _Shit_ ," Waver said, and he ran out to intercept him.

The door swung as Waver took off, and Diarmuid stood at the center of Waver's room, not knowing what to do. Above him, the ceiling light was still swinging from the commotion earlier, and Waver's room was a mess: Martha was unconscious and sprawled out on the floor, a noticeable bruise on her forehead from where she had whacked her head on the floor, and there were papers and electronics strewn about, knocked over in the struggle. With difficulty, Diarmuid used his good arm to heft Martha onto Waver's bed, taking care to arrange a pillow under her head. As he was rearranging the sheets, there was a loud _thud_ downstairs, and Diarmuid started a bit at the sound.

"Well, he's unconscious," Waver called out from down the stairs. There was a long pause.

"Can you, uh, help me drag them back downstairs?"

 

*****

 

As it turned out, trying to pick up a body off the stairs with one good arm was next to impossible.

It took three solid attempts of Lancer trying to slide his arm around and trying to heft Glen onto his shoulder before Waver came around and hoisted him up by the armpits. "Grab his legs," Waver said, and Lancer wrapped Glen's ankles by the crook of his elbow, holding him like a bundle of firewood. "Okay, uh, just start walking backwards, I'll tell you when to turn."

"Understood," Lancer said, but as he tried to negotiate the steps Glen's lower half whacked against the stairs.

"Wait wait wait wait--"

Lancer stumbled, and Waver suddenly was bearing the full weight of Glen's body, hoisting him by the armpits and trying not to drop him. "Oi, Lancer!"

"Sorry!" Lancer scrambled. He tripped. All three of them toppled down the stairs.

Fortunately for Waver and Glen, Lancer had fallen down first. Lancer groaned, pushing himself up on one good arm and blinking slowly at the sudden stream of blood coursing down his nose.

"Forgive me, my lord," Lancer said, and he shakily wiped his hand across his nose, smearing blood across his face. "Oh no. I seem to be getting blood on the carpet as well..."

Maybe it was the look on Lancer's face, or maybe it was the fact that he had gotten beaten up by a 74 year-old Australian woman after having his arm practically sliced off by his own Noble Phantasm, or maybe it was because he was trying his hardest to wipe up the blood on the carpet and only making things worse, but Waver started to giggle.

Lancer looked up. "...My lord?"

Waver bit his lip, shaking his head. He started laughing.

"Wha--" Lancer looked like he'd been slapped in the face. "What is so funny?" He sounded more hurt than anything Waver has ever heard.

Waver started howling. "Oh my god!" Waver said. His stomach was hurting from laughing so much. "Oh my god! Oh my god!"

"My lord?"

"Oh my god, of course this would happen to me. _Of course_."

"I do not understand what is so funny," Lancer said. Waver howled.

"It's just--" Waver wheezed. "My _Servant_ \-- my all powerful -- miracle -- Servant -- got attacked by his own Noble Phantasm -- and got _beat up_ by a seventy year-old!"

"I was caught off-guard," Lancer said, stupidly. Waver laughed, harder.

"On top of that--" Waver gasped, tears in his eyes. " _On top of that!_ He smells like rotting garbage! And his face scares off the ladies! And the kicker is _I made him this way_!"

Waver was laughing so hard he was crying. And despite himself, Lancer started laughing too.


	6. Chapter 6

"Kirei," Tokiomi said. "What do you know about the Master and Servant pairings of this war?"

Kirei pulled out a stack of papers.

"Kayneth El-Melloi Archibald. A nobleman of the Magus Society and Master of Rider. Has no wish, only seeks the Grail to bring him glory and renown.

"Ryuunosuke Uryuu, the Serial Killer of Fuyuki and Master of Caster. He doesn't even understand what the Grail is, he is just using it so he can continue killing people.

"Waver Velvet. University Student and Master of Lancer. He too seeks the Grail to further his reputation, but he is far less capable or competent than Kayneth. In fact, his Servant recently got done in by his own Noble Phantasm."

"Rather inexperienced, isn't he?" Tokiomi said. Kerei smiled, thinly.

"Indeed."

In the Einzbern castle, Kiritsugu was also assessing the Masters.

"The best course of action is to let Berserker take on Caster, after which the winner will go after Archer or Rider," Kiritsugu said. "It seems as though Assassin was killed, but I suspect it was for show. Keep a lookout, Maiya. That Servant may very well appear later in this war."

"What about Lancer?" Maiya said.

"Lancer recently injured himself with his own Noble Phantasm. Quite frankly, he is not worth wasting our efforts on. They will likely do themselves in soon enough."

In the Mackenzie's backyard, Waver was dragging a large rock in the center of the lawn.

"My lord, may I ask what this is for?" Lancer said. He had brought the rock for Waver from a quarry on the outskirts of the city. It was rather large, almost the same size as Lancer's torso, and though he really didn't need the use of his fingers to help carry it, he did have some difficulty transporting it across the town.

"I'm going to use this to break your spear," Waver said. He hefted it at the center of an incantation circle and tossed a coin-sized crystal of mana at the center. "I'm going to strengthen this rock, and then you're going to smash your spear against it. Easy peasy. I'm pretty sure this will work."

"I see," Lancer said. Another spark of mana. The rock glowed, softly.

"Okay," Waver said. He dusted off his hands. "So just materialize your spear and break it over this rock. I've increased the hardness so that it's ten times as hard as a diamond. If this doesn't break your spear, nothing can."

"Understood," Lancer said, and he gripped the golden spear in his right hand.

Clang! The spear banged into the rock and snapped back up into Lancer's face.

"What the--" Waver jumped forward. "You _did not_ just cut yourself again! Oh my god!" Waver said.

"What do you see?" Tokiomi asked Kirei. They were spying on them through Assassin. Kirei's mouth thinned.

"Lancer just injured himself again with his spear."

Tokiomi arched an eyebrow.

"Well Maiya?" Kiritsugu said, as they looked at the video feed. "Do you still believe we should target them?"

Maiya stood behind Kiritsugu. On the monitor, the young man was yelling at his Servant, his face contorted like a fish and gesturing wildly.

"I do not," Maiya said, and she watched as the Servant meekly pressed a gauze to the cut on his head.

"Bullets are resources and we have precious few."

 

****

 

Diarmuid watched, heart in his throat, as his Master paced back and forth in the darkness. Diarmuid kneeled, his left knee and injured arm pressing into the wet grass, silently swallowing back his shame as his Master cursed to himself and held his head in his hands.

"If only I didn't suck as a Master--" and Diarmuid jerked his head up, startled, "--you wouldn't even be in this mess, Lancer!"

Diarmuid's eyes widened.

_My lord. He blames himself!_

"Ugh! It's just so frustrating!" Waver said. "Why did I even think I could command a Heroic Spirit, anyway? You're a knight, and look where I've gotten you!"

 All at once, the shame he felt had dissipated. His lord needed his strength most of all.

"My lord--" Diarmuid shook himself, still reeling from the shock. "My lord, it is not as you think--"

"I suck is what I think! My Servant is injured and I can't even heal him!"

"But this wound is a result of the curse of my spear! No magic can lift it! But I thank you for trying."

"But...but...."

"My lord, worry not! For I am a Heroic Spirit. The loss of one arm will not so easily slow me!"

"Lancer," Waver said, and Diarmuid stood in front of him, strong and proud, the confidence in his expression bolstering him.

"Take heart, my lord," Diarmuid said. "It was by my folly alone that I got so injured. You trusted in my abilities and I had let you down. On my honor, I will do my utmost rectify that. Please put your trust in me again!"

They went to the kitchen. Waver sat at the table and watched, frowning a little as Lancer fumbled with a teacup. He had insisted he make his Master tea, nevermind that Waver could make his own damn tea and the Mackenzies could walk in at any moment. But Lancer had insisted. "I only wish to show you I am still capable of handling things," Lancer had said. Now Waver watched as Lancer shakily tried pouring tea, the stream of liquid occasionally missing the teacup and pudding around the tray. Lancer frowned, blew on his lock of hair, and stuck a stack of napkins on it to mop the excess liquid.

"You know you don't have to do this, right?" Waver said.

"I only wish to prove my usefulness, my lord." He managed to finishing pouring the tea, but when he set it on the tray, his hand tipped. Waver watched, dull-eyed and frowning, as Lancer instinctively threw out his gimpy left hand to catch it, only to knock the teacup off the tray, shattering it on the floor and spilling hot tea all over the linoleum.

"Er, well...this is not a reflection on how I wield my weapons," Lancer said.

Waver sighed loudly, then put his head down on the counter.

 

*****

 

_There was a boy in a church. Pale skin and hazel eyes, kneeling._

_"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been three days since my last confession...."_

_A rap against his knuckles._

_The boy was sitting with other boys, writing from a scroll. He was using his right hand. His left hand was lashed onto a chair._

_"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been six days since my last confession..."_

_Nuns whispering to each other. "Look not upon his face, for his is the face of temptation and evil."_

_They took a switch against his arm._

_The boy was kneeling on gravel stones. His legs and knees were raw. A rosary was twined around his hands. There were cuts and bruises along his knuckles._

_"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been eight days since my last confession..."_

_He took a sword in his left hand._

_No one noticed, when he held two swords, that the stance he took favored his left._

_A man gave a Sermon. "And he shall separate them one from another, as a shepherd divideth his sheep from the goats. And he shall set the sheep on his right hand, but the goats on the left. Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, 'Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world...."_

_No one noticed, when he wielded two spears, that the stance he took favored his left._

_"Then shall he say also unto them on the left hand, Depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire...."_

_The woman, Grainne, kissed his left hand. Her lips brushed softly against the scars on his knuckles._

 

*****

 

What was that? A dream? Lancer's memories? Waver opened his eyes.

It was still dark in his room, and quietly Waver sat up and pushed his bedspread down around his knees. To the casual observer, it would seem that Waver was alone in his room, but he knew Lancer was resting in spirit form: once Waver was certain Lancer's wound wouldn't hemorrhage more mana, he let Lancer go into spirit form to better recuperate. "Don't shift back unless I need you," Waver had told him, and Lancer dutifully obeyed.

Waver rolled his neck, feeling the stiffness of his shoulders, and looked silently out the window. He knew all about Lancer's curse, his ill-fated romance with Grainne, the betrayal of his lord and his death because of it. But he had no idea about him being left-handed. He had read before that being left-handed was evidence enough to condemn a woman to death for being a witch. That Lancer was also left-handed, but also suffered the curse of his love spot, boggled his mind.

 _No wonder he's so hung up on his chivalry_ , Waver thought. When the world thought you were evil, wouldn't it make sense to try to do more good?

Lancer was changing the dressings around his arm. Waver watched as Lancer quietly peeled off the gauze, bits of dried blood pulling from the wound and causing fresh places to bleed and ooze.

"Ne, Lancer. You can use swords, right?"

"Of course." Lancer placed a strip of thick cotton padding over the cut, then began wrapping his arm with gauze. "Moralltach and Beagalltach were the names of my swords."

"Huh." Waver frowned. "You don't have access to them because you're a lancer, right?"

"Unfortunately not," Lancer said. "A sword would be easier to use with one hand. A shame I was not summoned as a Saber."

His left hand was in his lap. Waver hadn't noticed it before, but when he looked closer, he could see pale white scars crisscrossing Lancer's knuckles.

The package came two days later.

"My lord, what is this?" Lancer said, lifting up the package. Waver handed him the scissors and was pleased to see Lancer using them, expertly.

"Just open it," Waver said, and Lancer gave him a puzzled look, before using the edge of the scissor blade to cut through the tape.

"My lord!" Lancer's face brightened as he lifted the sword out from its casing, Styrofoam peanuts dropping on the floor as he pulled it out of the box. "Is this...is this for me?"

"Yeah." Waver rubbed his neck, frowning. "It's a Spanish rapier, uh, one of those basket-hilted swords? I did some research and I read they're pretty good for thrusting, which I figured you'd like, since you use spears and everything. Um," Waver frowned. "I pretty much blew my entire savings on this, so if you don't like you're just gonna have to deal with it."

Lancer turned the sword over in his hand. The hilt of the rapier fit over his hand perfectly. The thin blade gleamed, brightly.

"My lord..." Lancer seemed touched. "I am unworthy of such a gift," Lancer said.

"O-oi! Don't get the wrong idea!" Waver said. "It's not very useful having a Servant who can't fight!"

He watched as Lancer picked the sword up in his non-dominant hand. He swung it expertly, the long blade perfectly arcing through the air.

"You can use it to fight, but you won't be able to charge it with mana," Waver said. "If you need to use any special moves you'll still have to materialize your spears."

"I shall remember that." Lancer gave one experimental thrust, then lowered his guard. "I thank you, my lord. I only hope that I am worthy enough to live up to such a gift."

Lancer's eyes were shining. Waver blushed and glared.

"Just try not to stab yourself and we'll call it even," Waver said.


	7. Chapter 7

_They dragged the boy through the moor in the middle of the night, his feet dragging uselessly against the dry, dead grass._

_"Please!" the boy's voice was shrill and terrified. "Mercy!"_

_Two older boys gripped him by the arms while two others flanked around him on all sides._

_"The devil is in his face! The Lord bless us! The Lord forgive us!"_

_The boy screamed, body thrashing, as the older boys lifted him and tossed him into a well._

_The boy slammed against his shoulder, the water cold and icy against his limbs. He scrabbled forward. His hands clawed against the rock, fingers digging into the stone until his nails were chipped and bleeding. "Please." The boy was sobbing. "Please!"_

_Above him, there was nothing but blackness, the clouds slowly covering the moon._

 

*****

 

Someone was shaking Waver by the shoulder.

"My lord!" Lancer said, and Waver gasped, eyes opening and trying to catch his breath. His heart was thudding in his ears and his skin was clammy with cold sweat.

"You are all right." Lancer looked relieved. Waver shook his head, trying to get his bearings.

"What happened?" Waver said. Lancer sat down next to him.

"It seemed as though you were having a nightmare," Lancer said. "You were crying out in your sleep." He still looked worried. Waver frowned.

"I think I saw one of your memories," Waver said. "Lancer. Have you....have you ever been thrown into a well?"

Lancer looked at him, puzzled. "A well?" Lancer said. Waver frowned.

"I...you don't remember? Four boys dragged you across the moor..."

"Oh!" Lancer brightened. "Yes, indeed I do remember. The older boys were fond of roughhousing, if I rightly recall."

"Roughhousing?" Waver stared at him, incredulous. "Lancer, they _tossed you into a well_. You were crying..." Waver trailed off when he realized Lancer was looking at him with honest to goodness surprise. "They called you the devil," Waver said. Lancer shook his head.

"Young boys with high spirits, surely. I promise you it was not so terrible."

Lancer sincerely didn't seem bothered at all by the memory. Instead, he seemed puzzled that Waver was so upset. "Did they, uh, roughhouse a lot?" Waver asked, finally. Lancer nodded.

"From time to time. It was the exuberance of youth, after all."

"Huh."

Lancer's left hand was curled serenely in his lap. Waver could see the scars across his knuckles, the white tape of his bandages stretched across pink, translucent skin.

"Lancer."

"Yes, my lord?"

"Your legend said you had a lot of friends." Waver felt stupid but he had to ask. "But the dreams I've been having...I mean. It seems like when you were younger, you didn't."

Waver waited, expecting Lancer to elaborate. But Lancer didn't say anything, just continued looking at him, waiting.

"So, Lancer...?"

Lancer blinked, owlishly.

"Er..."

What the hell was wrong with him? He was his _Heroic Spirit_ , it wasn't like Waver could just go up to him and ask, _Hey Lancer, I dreamt you were bullied when you were younger, is that true_? And how come Waver was dreaming about Lancer's childhood and not like, Grainne or Fionn or anything important about his legend? It was giving him flashbacks to his own miserable childhood, and Waver was irritated at himself for even thinking about it.

"You know what, nevermind," Waver said, and he wound the bedspread around himself. "I'm going to go back to sleep."

Lancer hesitated. "There isn't anything more you wish to ask me?"

"Not really." He turned his back toward him, pulling up the bedspread closer. "Get some rest, Lancer. Thank you for waking me up."

"Of course." Lancer stood up, still looking a little uncertain.

"Um, my lord?"

"Yeah?"

Lancer hesitated. "I do not mind answering any questions you might have. It seems that you and I had similar experiences, after all."

Waver sat back up. "How did you--"

"Er, I don't think you meant to, my lord, but you were speaking to me telepathically."

"You're kidding."

Lancer smiled apologetically and sat back next to him.

"I believe I understand the question you want to ask," Lancer said, finally. "It is true, I was rather shy as a youth. But I made many friends later."

"How?" Waver said, before he could stop himself. Lancer smiled warmly.

"By fighting side by side, and protecting and helping my comrades, I was able to call the Knights of Fianna my brothers."

"What about your hand?" Waver said. Lancer laughed, warmly.

"My lord. No one cared much about my hand, other than that our elbows occasionally knocked into each other's whilst eating at the table."

"You fought them, right?" Waver said, and Waver could see Lancer's smile fade. His eyes darkened a little at the memory.

"Yes," Lancer said, softly, and he turned to look at him. "It is true I crossed weapons with my friends. And to them I did nothing but bare my fangs."

Waver could imagine it, the pain and horror of spilling the blood of his friends. But it was more than that - he thought of the ostracism of Lancer's childhood, and knew full well how important the Knights of Fianna must have been to him. They were the first group to truly accept him: he had found a place where he finally belonged, and yet, in the end, he was forced to betray them.

Family, acceptance, loyalty, or love. It finally dawned on Waver just how terrible the choice must have been for him.

"I'm sorry," Waver said. Lancer shook his head.

"Do not be," Lancer said. He smiled, reassuringly. "The whole of my life was not full of suffering and anguish only. I have many happy memories as well."

"Of you and Grainne?"

"Indeed." Lancer smiled.

Earlier that night, Waver had watched as Lancer trained with his new sword. "Beautiful" wasn't the word that came to mind when Waver thought of fighting, but as he watched Lancer, whose movements were imbued with grace and poise and practiced motion, the glint of his blade like whitecaps on a stream of swirling water, he thought to himself that there really was no other way to describe it, so entranced was he by the liquid ease of Lancer's motions, or the quiet grace with which he swung his sword. He thought of this now as he watched him, sitting quietly at the edge of the bed, the image of twin lances tearing through the men he once called his friends. Waver looked at Lancer quietly and frowned.

"Ne, Lancer?"

"Yes, my lord?"

"If we win the Grail...don't you think...I mean...don't you see yourself wishing to do it all over?"

Waver looked up at him, wonderingly. Lancer gave him a small, sad smile.

"I harbor no ill will toward anybody. But fate simply was too cruel."


	8. Chapter 8

By his rough estimate, it had been approximately 30 hours since Kiritsugu last slept. His eyes felt dry and heavy and the day's worth of stubble grew scratchy against his chin.

He had been staying in a cheap motel, which he was using as his base of operations. When he arrived, he wallpapered the windows with newspaper and taped a map of Fuyuki City Proper onto the wall. Photographs of the Masters were taped over various locations, and red sharpie circled and marked the areas where they were most active. Up until now, he had been keeping a close eye on the Tohsakas and the Matous, the only two magus families who seemed to be fighting the war seriously, and Kirei, who for some inexplicable reason was allied with Tohsaka. Archibald, for all his bluster and theatrics, made no secret of his magical atelier, which Maiya had already rigged with plenty of explosives, and as the serial killer Ryuunosuke didn't seem to care about the Grail one way or the other, he posed little serious threat.

That only left the Master of Lancer. Kiritsugu sighed heavily, and stuck a pin into the wallpaper.

"The other Masters seem to be fortifying their strongholds," Maiya said. "There has been little spiritual activity in either of their locations. What do you think we should do?"

"We wait," Kiritsugu said. He picked up his rifle and readjusted his scope.

Kiritsugu stepped out of the restaurant, a paper bag of hamburgers tucked under his arm. By his calculations, he had exactly twenty minutes to eat before reconvening with Maiya's familiars, which she had sent to spy on the Tohsaka and Archibald strongholds. He stuck his hand into the greasy paper bag and pulled out a hamburger, unwrapping the paper and taking a large bite as he walked. Eating and walking made his time more efficient, chewing quickly and swallowing in big, hurried bites.

"...it's your fault we're even out here, I told you not to mess with the Mackenzie's stuff!"

Kiritsugu stopped, then pressed his back against the wall.

Waver Velvet was walking down the street, having a conversation, out loud, with his invisible Servant.

Kiritsugu's mouth thinned. Only an idiot would address his Servant out loud in public. He craned his neck a little, watching the boy pass. He was carrying a large cardboard box, which he seemed to be struggling with. The boy walked, occasionally stopping to hoist the box up against his hip and readjust his grip. _Must be heavy_ , Kiritsugu thought. He took another bite of hamburger and watched.

"Oi! Lancer! Come out here, for a minute."

Lancer materialized in the middle of the sidewalk.

Kiritsugu blinked. Did that boy materialize his Servant in plain view in the middle of the day? There were traffic cameras mounted on the building opposite him, and they were standing in front of various shops and offices, somebody could have seen him.

"Can you help me carry this? It's getting pretty heavy," the boy said.

Clearly the boy was an idiot. Kiritsugu shoved the rest of his hamburger in his mouth and balled up the wrapper.

"Maiya, what's your status?" He pressed his hand over his earpiece. Maiya's voice crackled in his ear.

" _Things are going well. The Masters are still within their strongholds. Have you been delayed?_ "

"I am currently observing the Velvet boy, talking to his Servant." He watched as Lancer hefted the box with his one good arm, walking in full armor and garnering strange looks from the crowd of businessmen walking past him. "There has been a change of plans. I'm going to go observe."

" _Affirmative._ " Kiritsugu folded the paper bag under his arm.

Kiritsugu followed them, keeping a short distance. Both Master and Servant seemed oblivious to Kiritsugu's presence, the former yelling, making loud, irritated statements, while the latter blushed and stammered and kept his head hung in a display of absolute deference. From their conversation, Kiritsugu was able to piece together the events of that morning: evidently Lancer, in an earnest attempt to curry favor with his Master, had attempted to make coffee. Unfortunately, the filter had not been seated properly, and Lancer had neglected to place the pot beneath the coffeemaker. What followed was that he essentially made caffeinated mud, which caked and hardened onto the boiler plate. And being the great thinker that he was, Lancer didn't think twice to stick his bare hand into the still-hot base in order to scrape the goop out.

"And you burned your good hand on top of it!" Waver said, as Lancer hung his head even lower, his ears turning red and looking even more embarrassed. After he stuck his bare hand onto the hot boiler plate, Lancer apparently let out an unmanly shriek, woke up their benefactors, and knocked the entire coffeemaker onto the floor, shattering the pot and spreading charred black goop all over the linoleum.

The boy, apparently, had gotten adept at using memory spells.

"Thank you for healing me, my lord," Lancer said.

"It's my _job_ , idiot, what good is a Servant with two bum hands?"

"Forgive me, my lord. I only wanted to please you."

"Hmph. Well we're lucky we found this one on sale, hopefully Mackenzie won't notice it's a different brand."

Any other mage would have felt Kiritsugu's killing intent, but the boy was a complete novice, walking beside Lancer completely oblivious. Unfortunately, the only weapon Kiritsugu had on hand was the Contender, and Kiritsugu was not about to waste any of his precious magic bullets to take out the two of them. He unwrapped another hamburger.

Perhaps it was because of the lack of sleep, or perhaps because the two of them together seemed like a complete and utter trainwreck, but Kiritsugu decided to keep following them. Maiya was still keeping watch; she could always notify him should something change.

They were negotiating the steps to a bridge; Kiritsugu watched as Lancer tried to balance the box with his one arm, which began to slip as he walked up the steps. Even though he was a Servant, he was not immune to the effects of the wound of his left hand, which rendered his left arm considerably weaker. The box slipped, Lancer tried to readjust his grip, and just as they were cresting the platform, the box tipped over Lancer's elbow and tumbled unceremoniously down the stairs.

"Crap!" Waver said. Lancer's eyes widened. Waver pushed past him and bounded down the stairs.

"Please don't be broken, please don't be broken, I can't afford to buy another coffeemaker, please don't be broken--" Waver ran down the stairs and tore open the cardboard. "Dammit! The pot is cracked!"

"Oh no," Lancer said. He looked stricken. "My lord, what shall we do?"

"We have to fix it," Waver said, and he squatted on the sidewalk.

Impossible! Kiritugu thought. No matter how idiotic this boy may be, surely he cannot be thinking of doing magecraft here!

And he groaned internally as he felt the slight surge of mana, reinforcement magecraft tracing over the structure of the broken pot.

Maybe he _should_ just kill them. Kiritsugu's finger itched toward his Contender. He probably wouldn't even need to waste his bullets - with the way things were going, he could probably just as easily push them into oncoming traffic.

" _There is increased activity at the Tohsaka compound._ " Maiya's voice crackled heavily in his ear. " _Kirei appears to be leaving for the Church. What are your orders?_ "

Kiritsugu sighed, and lowered his guard. "Follow him, but stay at a reasonable distance. I will meet you there."

 

*****

 

At the street corner, while Waver was repairing the crack in the glass, Diarmuid felt a shift in the air.

"My lord," Diarmuid said, and Waver looked up. "I believe someone may be following us."

"Who?" Waver said, and he jumped up.

But Kiritsugu had already gone.


	9. Chapter 9

The skin around Diarmuid's arm was numb from where it was cut, and there was a throbbing pain in his arm and shoulder that persisted despite his Master's attempts to give him relief. If Diarmuid moved his shoulder wrong or overused the limb, he would feel a sharp, electric jolt of searing pain, which would make him take a sharp intake of breath and stop whatever it was that he was doing.

It was a shame that he got so injured, but on the other hand, it made him feel less like a disembodied ghost reanimated by magic, and more as if he still had a flesh-and-blood body, a human with the same human weaknesses he had in the past.

That thinking, however, irritated his Master.

"How are you not pissed?" Waver said, as Diarmuid quietly changed the dressing around his arm. "You're a Servant, you're supposed to be invincible! But here you are stuck with this crappy wound."

"It is true, this wound does hamper my abilities somewhat." Diarmuid winced a little as he pulled back the gauze, which was crusted and oozing and sticking to his wound. "However, it also helps me feel more grounded."

"What do you mean, 'grounded'?" Waver said. Diarmuid smiled.

"It is easy to fight when you feel no exhaustion or pain, and consequently it is easy to forget your life may go forfeit. This pain reminds me that for all my abilities, I am still mortal. My body may not be flesh and blood, but it will still bleed the same if I am struck.

"But more to the point, my lord: it pleases me that I can fight despite this," Diarmuid said. "It makes me feel as though I am still alive."

"So you're saying you're glad you almost got your hand cut off," Waver said. It wasn't a question. Diarmuid nodded.

"Indeed. Were it not for this wound, I would not have gotten this sword, and I would not have seen firsthand how much my lord values me."

"O-oi!" Waver said. "I got you that sword so you could fight, idiot! Don't turn it into something embarrassing!"

"It is not embarrassing, my lord. It represents your faith in me."

"Ugh," Waver said, and he sat down. "You're too optimistic, you know that?"

"Optimistic, my lord?"

"You know. 'The glass is always half full,' or, 'every cloud has a silver lining,' or, 'I nearly cut off my hand but my Master got me a sword'...."

"...Oh."

"Yeah. And after awhile it gets really annoying. You should be complaining that your arm hurts, not being all philosophical and grateful for the pain, or whatever."

"Well...it does hurt, a little," Diarmuid said. He wondered if that admission would please him.

Apparently it did, because Waver crossed his arms and nodded.

"Okay. See? Wasn't that easy? Just be a little more truthful to yourself," Waver said. "If things suck, just say they suck. You don't have to try and make it out into a freaking Life Lesson, you know."

 

*****

 

They took the train into the city, Diarmuid taking spirit form while his Master entered the car. It was crowded, but somehow the passengers around them gave them a wide berth. Even though Diarmuid was in spirit form, women around him still managed to catch a whiff of his curse, frowning and turning their noses, looking around.

"Ugh, do you smell that?"

"It smells like something died in here."

"You think it's that kid?"

He saw his Master shift, uncomfortably.

"I'm going to leave you at home from now on," Waver said. "Unfortunately the curse is too strong, being around me is turning into a distraction."

" _My lord. Are you sure that is wise?_ " Diarmuid spoke to him in spirit form. " _You will be defenseless if you are attacked_."

"No one is gonna attack. In fact I'm fairly sure people think we're a joke, no one is gonna bother."

Diarmuid frowned, and hovered uneasily.

While he was vaguely aware of the curse's effect, he really had no idea just how bad it was. Judging from the reactions of the women around him, he could at the very least surmise that he had the appearance of someone grossly deformed, unkempt and filthy and exuding a smell not unlike festering garbage. Even Martha, the lady of the house, would frown and occasionally sniff the air.

"Waver, do you smell something?" She held her basket of laundry and frowned. Fortunately Waver had erased her memory of the prior incident; Diarmuid stayed in spirit form, hovering anxiously. "It smells like the septic tank backed up. Were you having trouble with the toilet, earlier?"

"The septic tank is fine, I don't smell anything," Glen said. "Do you smell anything, Waver?"

He saw a drop of sweat form on his Master's forehead. "No."

Because he was curious, Diarmuid asked Saber for her opinion. "If I had to put it into words," Saber began, and she frowned.

"It is rather like the smell of human excrement. Or perhaps the smell of corpses, decomposing on a summer's day. But is not that bad," Saber said, and she smiled kindly.

"You smell fine to me," Waver said, evidently aware that Diarmuid was starting to feel self-conscious. "It's the nature of the curse, Lancer, they're going to think you're as repulsive and disgusting as possible."

How strange. In life, Diarmuid had not the stomach for the crowds of smitten maidens and jealous lovers that followed him, often finding himself wishing in earnest that he was born like everyone else. To that end, he avoided women whenever possible and took a vow of honorable chastity, which he had managed to keep until he fell in love with Grainne.

But the burden of that spot was nothing like this curse now, which utterly repulsed and horrified the women around him. It brought back painful memories of his childhood, the loneliness and isolation of his youth, knowing that his visage alone could inspire such unease.

But he supposed it was not all that bad. He could walk down a street unmolested, if he so chose; and while the shrieks of horror and disgust seemed to batter him at all sides, it was easy to remember that they were not reacting to him, but rather the power of his Master's magic, which was strong enough to overtake his curse. How fortunate was he to have a Master whose magecraft was so strong!

Unfortunately, the fair Martha had recently taken it upon herself to try to find the source of the smell that had been plaguing the upstairs of their house. Much to Glen and Waver's consternation, she forced herself to root around high and difficult to reach places, ignoring the arthritis in her hip and the dust that seemed to sear at her lungs. The only solution, Diarmuid thought, was that he should stay away from the house. The Mackenzie stronghold was within walking distance to the woods along Fuyuki's periphery, and with Diarmuid's agility rank, he was confident he could still guard his lord should anything go awry.

"Huh?! You can't just stay in the woods like some kind of ogre!"

Waver was staring at him as if he had three heads, but in truth it was the best solution Diarmuid could come up with. "I do not mind," Diarmuid said. He sat next to Waver and smiled. "In truth, I am well-accustomed to staying outdoors. Please do not trouble yourself over me."

"...I guess," Waver said. He looked at Diarmuid doubtfully. "If it makes you feel more comfortable, then I guess I'm okay with it. But you really don't have to."

"Nonsense," Diarmuid said, and he stood. "If you have need of me, please use our telepathic bond and call for me. I will be at your side post-haste."

"But what are you gonna do if you're attacked? If you stay in spirit form, you can't take your sword."

"You forget, my lord," Diarmuid said. "I still have access to my spears."

 

******

 

It was a strange sensation, staying in spirit form. The heft and weight of a physical body was something he had taken for granted; as a spirit, it was difficult to sense the boundary between himself and the darkness of the woods surrounding him. Above him, the dark line of trees swayed gently in the moonlight, and he could hear the soft sounds of insects creaking underfoot. It was the feeling of being everywhere and nowhere at once, as if he were something bigger than himself, the smooth edges of a gentle breeze.

Somehow, it reminded him of his flight with Grainne.

To be sure, their escape from the Fianna was marked with terror and uncertainty, the desperation of their act underscoring the sense that they had to keep moving. They never stayed long in one particular place, sleeping in short, rough intervals and moving beneath the cover of starlight, always keeping watch for their enemies coming to find them.

And yet, there were quiet moments. The warm touch of her hand against his shoulder as they rested. A soft smile. She was small and fair and so much more delicate than him, and there were times, when his resolve wavered and he was plagued with uncertainty and doubt, that it seemed as though she were the one protecting him.

" _I will come down to you, Fionn, and to the Fianna. And I will do death and destruction on you and on your people, for I am certain your mind is made up to give me no rest, but to bring me to my death in some place. And I have nowhere to go from this danger, for I have no friend or comrade under whose protection I could go in any far part of the great world, for it is often I fought against the men of the great world for love of you..._ "

Grainne. More beautiful than the green trees under blossom, so pure and sure in her love. And yet he knew her love would pass as quickly as the cold cloud at break of day, for no woman could look upon him and say that she truly loved him.

A gnawing sense of loneliness took him then, and the wound on his arm ached. Quietly he shifted back into corporeal form and stood beneath the canopy of trees, watching the sliver of moon pass and darken beneath the haze of drifting shadows.

"Stupid stupid stupid _stupid_!"

Diarmuid started. His Master was pushing his way through the woods, dragging a sleeping bag and swearing, loudly.

"My lord?!"

"Why did you have to go so deep?" Waver said. He hefted the bag down with a thud. "This thing was a pain in the neck to carry! And by the way, you passed the ley lines that are most compatible with you awhile ago, if you were gonna spend the night here, you might as well have set up camp there!"

"What are you doing here?" Diarmuid said. Waver glared.

"I'm staying with my Servant," Waver said. "I'm only here because some idiot thought it'd be better to hang out in the woods instead of the house, where it's warmer and more comfortable and aggh! What the hell did I just step on?!"

"Er, that appears to be feces," Diarmuid said. Waver groaned and threw down the bag.

"Here's your sword," Waver said. "And here's your bandages, since I knew you were probably too stupid to remember them."

Diarmuid was touched that his Master was so worried about him. "Thank you," he said, and he took the sword and the bandages from Waver, quietly. Waver rummaged through his pack, and continued.

"Martha is carpet-bombing the second floor with air freshener," Waver said. "So even though you left she still thinks she smells something. It's a pretty powerful aura, I guess. So there really was no point in you staying here.

"And don't worry," Waver added. "I'll find a way to break that curse. Even if I have to curse you with another love spell, then so be it. If I overshoot, at least this time it'll be something that you're used to."


	10. Chapter 10

_"We cannot do this," Diarmuid said._

_It was dark in the room of the tavern, and though they had managed to disguise themselves, Diarmuid was still worried the two of them would be seen. But Grainne was stubborn. Silently she cast off her long shawl and shook off the bed's coverlet, the orange light from the candle outlining her body beneath her nightgown. "Why?" Grainne said. Diarmuid shook his head._

_"My lady, you had me under a geas. It was only by threat of death that I came with you."_

_"You face death now, my knight. I do not see how that is different."_

_She stepped toward him, her small hands lightly pressing against the armor of his chest. He gently took her by the wrists and pulled them away._

_"I love you," Grainne said. "I look upon your face and see a sweetness that I yearn to hold. My body aches to touch you. I give myself willingly to you, tonight."_

_"We cannot," Diarmuid said again. "I will protect you from the Fianna, from your family and from the king. But I will not stain your honor," Diarmuid said, but she stepped up and kissed him. They broke apart and he drew a shaky breath. "Grainne," he said._

_"I know you that you do love me." Her lips brushed the side of his jaw. "I know the way you look at me. Love me now and take me as your wife."_

_"You know not of which you speak." Their bodies were close. He pressed his forehead against hers. "My lady, it is the curse of the spot that compels you. It would be better for you to take Fionn as a lover than myself."_

_"Better though the man I want is you?"_

_"Aye, it is. For the curse is what makes it so."_

_"Does it matter?" Grainne said. Diarmuid looked at her with tortured eyes._

_"My lady..."_

_"Does it matter?" Grainne said, again. "It matters not if the curse compels my love. All I know is that you have it. Do you love me?" Grainne said. And Diarmuid nodded, holding her._

_"It pains me, lady, but I do."_

 

*****

 

Waver woke, his eyes adjusting to the darkness of the bedroom.

Waver lay back in bed, staring at the ceiling. He couldn't shake the dream from his head. He thought of how Grainne stepped close to Lancer and took his left hand between both of hers, two slender white hands cupping his, before gently bringing his hand up to her lips. She kissed the scars that crossed his knuckles, her dry woman's thumbs gently stroking the skin of his palm, before bringing his hand up to touch her cheek. Waver watched as Lancer's breath seemed to hitch, his eyes wide and unsure as he hesitantly touched the side of her face.

The rest of it was like the most awkward sort of wet dream, Waver's mind forcibly turning away from the movement of their bodies beneath the candlelight, his brain reeling with the memory of Grainne's quiet sighs and the slick wet noises that came between them. _Stupid Lancer and his stupid moron memories_. He turned and shifted, trying to ignore the awkward boner that was tenting his pajamas and wondering just how many people went ahead and put their mouths on places considered verboten by the Catholic Church.

"My lord?"

"Aggh!" Waver shoved a pillow into his lap and yanked his blanket over his shoulders. "Didn't anyone teach you how to knock?!"

"Er, my apologies, my lord. But you told me to wake you if I saw anything of significance on my lookout."

"Okay, okay, just give me a minute!" Waver said, but Lancer just kept standing hesitantly at the edge of the bed.

"I mean, give me a minute _outside,_ " Waver said. Lancer's eyes widened.

"Oh!"

Waver managed to straighten himself, giving his pajama top a hard yank and combing his fingers through his hair. "Okay, you can come back in now," Waver said, and Lancer materialized in front of him, a blue dustcloud swirling even before Waver finished his sentence.

"My lord, there seems to be an increase in mana along the Mion river." Lancer was kneeling this time, his eyes fixed on the floor. "I believe this to be Caster's doing. Would you like to intercept him?"

"Now?" Waver said.

"It is as good a time as any," Lancer said. Waver frowned.

"Are there any other Servants in the area?" Waver said. Lancer shook his head.

"I do not know, my lord. But I am certain the others have sensed his presence. They will likely intercede, and soon."

Waver looked out the window. In the darkness, he could see the faint glow of mana rising out from beyond the horizon.

"I don't know how much you can do with your injury. It might be better to wait and let the others deal with him," Waver said.

"Understood." Lancer bowed again and shifted back into spirit form.

Waver felt a twinge of guilt keeping Lancer from fighting. Ever since Lancer injured his arm, Waver did his best to keep out of the main conflict. His plan was just to let the strong ones battle it out and pick each other off, thinning the crowd for him and Lancer. Though Lancer insisted he could still fight - even moreso with the sword Waver got him - Waver was still worried that his Servant was at a considerable disadvantage. "If you get killed, then they'll kill me," Waver said, and Lancer nodded with grave understanding. If that was what his Master wanted, Lancer would not let his pride get in the way.

"Ne, Lancer?"

_Yes, my lord?_

"It doesn't bother you, right? Me keeping you from fighting?"

 _If you believe that to be the best course of action, then I shall certainly abide_.

"It isn't because I think you're weak," Waver said, because suddenly it seemed really important that he spell it out for him. "I just don't want anything unnecessary to happen."

_I understand, my lord. Please do not trouble yourself over it._

"Well as long as we're both on the same page," Waver said, and he climbed back into bed and closed his eyes.

 

*****

 

The bookstore Waver frequented was located in a large arcade in the center of the city. It was the same arcade where Waver had found the coffeemaker, right across the street from a manga bookstore and an electronics depot. "I'm going to go to the bookstore for a little while," Waver said, as Lancer looked around. "You can do anything you want, just don't leave the arcade."

"Understood." Lancer looked back at him and smiled.

 _Well he seems to be in a better mood_ , Waver thought. Ever since Waver cast him with another curse - this time a mundane love spell, not strong enough to overpower the second curse, but good enough to nullify it and allow his original love spot to take over - Lancer seemed to be in better spirits, even smiling a little at the ladies who trailed after him, wondering to each other if he was some sort of idol or actor.

Now Waver watched as Lancer readjusted the black padded sling to his arm - Waver had got it for him from one of the local pharmacies, finding that Lancer's pain was much better having his injured arm immobilized and protected - before turning and waving, walking into the electronics store.

"You poor man. What happened to your arm?"

Waver looked up. A woman had spotted Lancer and was making her way toward where he was standing. "Did you get in an accident?" she said.

Waver stared at Lancer, hoping he wasn't stupid enough to tell her how he got injured: "I received this wound whilst engaging in honorable combat," Lancer said. Waver facepalmed.

"Does it hurt?" she said.

"Not particularly," Lancer said.

"Would you like me to help you feel better?" she said. She pressed her breasts up against his sling.

"O-oi!" Waver grabbed Lancer by his good arm. "That's enough for today, okay?"

"Oh," the woman blinked. "I'm sorry. Are you two together?"

"Wait, what? No we're not together!" Waver said, just as Lancer said, "Yes, indeed we are."

"Huh?!" Waver said. Lancer smiled.

"Oooh," the woman said. "How nice for you. You must be very lucky," she said.

"I am indeed quite fortunate," Lancer said, smiling. "I could not have asked for a better partner."

Waver reddened. "Moron, stop talking like that! People are gonna get the wrong idea!"

"But being with you pleases me." Lancer was the perfect picture of innocence. "Is telling her that so wrong?"

"Ugh, just... _nevermind!_ " Waver said, and he grabbed Lancer by the arm.

 

*****

 

Waver walked around the bookstore, looking up at the shelves until he found the book he was looking for.

Waver knew about the legend: that Grianne was betrothed to Fionn, the leader of the Fianna, but on the day of their engagement she saw Lancer's love spot and fell in love with him. Apparently she used a geas to force him to help her escape.

Waver flipped through the book, finding the section about Lancer's legend. Waver's eyes moved quickly as he scanned the page.

It was a passage detailing what happened after Lancer's death. Waver stopped and stared.

_And Fionn went secretly and unknown to the Fianna to the place where Grania was, and he spoke gently to her. He went on giving her gentle talk and loving words, till in the end he brought her to his own will._

_And there is no news told of them, until such time as they came to where the seven battalions of the Fianna were waiting for Fionn. And they saw him coming, and Grania with him, like any new wife with her husband..._

Wait, what? Waver's brow furrowed. Fionn was the man Grianne was supposed to marry in the first place - the man Lancer took her away from. And she married him after Lancer died!

Waver's eyes widened.

Was she supposed to love Fionn instead of Lancer, all that time?

"My lord?"

Waver tensed, then shoved the book back into the shelf. "Ah, there you are," Lancer said. "Did you know they make vessels that keeps liquid warm? It is truly astonishing," Lancer said, and he showed Waver the thermos. "Perhaps we can gift this to the Mackenzies, as thanks for letting us stay in their house?"

"Maybe later," Waver said. Lancer peered over his shoulder.

"What is this?" Lancer said, and Waver saw him looking at the book. "' _Gods and Fighting Men_ '? Oh I see, a book about legends!"

"Give me that," Waver said, and he snatched it from him, shoving it back into the shelf.

The sun was starting to set when they finally started to head back, and Waver decided to take a detour and walk along the river. He had been meaning to collect samples of water for awhile now, but dealing with Lancer's injuries had taken precedence. "Tomorrow I'll have you take samples of the river so we can look for spellcasting residue," Waver said. "If what you saw the other night is true, then Caster must be lurking around the river."

"I thought you said to allow the other Servants to deal with him first?" Lancer seemed genuinely surprised. Waver shrugged.

"Face-to-face, we may be at a disadvantage. But maybe not with the element of surprise."

They walked in silence. Waver stared at the ground, and at the yellow slants of sunlight that was backlighting the grass along the riverbank. For some reason, the thing with Grainne was bothering him. He couldn't get it out of his mind.

"Ne, Lancer?"

"Yes, my lord?"

"You said you and Grainne were happy, right?"

Lancer smiled. "Indeed we were," Lancer said. He looked up at the sky, remembering. "I had never been so smitten. Even as we traveled together, I was still shy, and she used to tease me that a splash of water on her leg was more adventurous than I was. She still teased me even after we were married." He smiled a little at the memory.

"My lord?" Lancer said, looking at Waver's face. "Is something wrong?"

"No, Lancer, it's just..." Waver frowned and crossed his arms.

"I read that she married Fionn after you died," Waver said. Lancer stopped.

"Lancer?"

Lancer was standing against the backdrop of a yellow sky. The wind moved, and that curly lock of hair stirred. A patch of yellow sunlight caught the side of his face. He looked at Waver with terrible eyes.

"Oh, Lancer," Waver said. "I'm sorry. You didn't know."

"That is quite alright," Lancer said. His eyes were unfocused, looking at the ground. "I am glad she was happy, at the very least. I would hate to think that all she did was grieve."

"I mean, you don't know if she was happy," Waver said. "I mean, women of that time didn't really have much choice in what they did, right? It might have been a political marriage, or she might have been under duress, or--"

"My lord Fionn was a kind man, whom I once served loyally," Lancer said. "If he had love for her, then I'm sure he did his utmost to make her happy. In truth, I am glad of it," Lancer said.

And it seemed to Waver that he looked a little sad.


	11. Chapter 11

Sunlight reflected from the waters of the river like silver coins, and Diarmuid knelt forward, quietly scooping up a test tube full of water and writing on the label. His Master had asked him to take samples along the riverbed and mark the locations with specific letters of the alphabet. Unfortunately, Diarmuid was using his right hand, and as a result, his penmanship waffled somewhere between barely legible and utterly atrocious. The letter A became squiggly triangle thing matching the squiggly triangle thing on the map, the letter B became a line with what looked like a haphazard "3" lying sideways, and the letter C, arguably the easiest letter to draw besides a lowercase l, looked more like a slash mark.

Diarmuid circled the slash mark, so as not to mix it up with the letter L. But then it just looked like he wrote the letter D, so he resolved the issue by smearing the ink around with his thumb.

Diarmuid was fiddling with his pen when he heard it: an odd sound coming from an irrigation drain across from him.

He hefted his pack across his shoulder and leaped across the water, landing gracefully onto the concrete platform and crouching near the tall opening of the irrigation drain, so that he could better listen. He heard it again: a faint cry. A person's. Diarmuid ran inside.

The drain stretched into a large underground cavern. Diarmuid's feet splashed hard into the water as he ran forward, straining to listen for those cries.

He heard the cry again. He rocketed downstream and turned a hard right, his body lurching as he shifted direction.

"Help! Help! HELP!" A little boy was crying. His little hands were gripping the iron bars.

"It's okay, it's okay, I shall rescue you." Diarmuid manifested his spear and slashed through the bars of the cage. The boy stumbled out. It wasn't until the door of the cage fully opened that Diarmuid realized that there were maybe six children held there, all crying and huddled together and staring at him with widened eyes.

He didn't have time to wonder what was going on, or why those children were captured, or who it was that had taken them. He ushered them quickly to the mouth of the irrigation drain, leading them out into the open river.

"Tomoe! Tomoe! He still has Tomoe!" One of the children was shaking. Diarmuid knelt beside her.

"Who?" Diarmuid said.

"The monster!" the little girl said. Diarmuid turned to the older boy, who was standing beside him, his face pale.

"Take the other ones and go to the police," Diarmuid said. "I shall go and see if I can find the other little girl."

The little boy nodded, stricken. Diarmuid waited until he saw the children run to safety, climbing up the stairs to the bridge and running back toward the center of town.

He ran back into the irrigation drain, shifting into his armor. He had heard of the serial killer of Fuyuki, some crazed madman who was killing children and women without any discernible pattern. Though he was a Servant, and beholden to avoid killing citizens in this war, Diarmuid thought that this perhaps would be the one time he would make a strong exception. He ran into the atelier and glanced around.

There was the sound of a pipe dripping, and it took a moment for Diarmuid's eyes to adjust to the dark. There was a thin trickle of light that had somehow filtered its way from the outside, and Diarmuid could just make out the shapes of things leering at him from the darkness.

There was a sound, and Diarmuid turned to see the figure of a little girl slumped over a table.

Her head fell off her body when he leaned forward to touch her shoulder.

He took a step back. His foot kicked something soft.

Dismembered body parts. A human foot. A head. A puddle of blood, pooling around his feet.

He threw his hand up toward his face, swallowing at the stench of it. There was too much blood.

"Sir! Hey, Siiiiiir! It looks like someone let go of the dogs!"

Diarmuid's head snapped back. Two people were walking into the tunnel, their shadows long and tall and filling the wall of the cave.

"Worry not, my darling Master! It is true, we lost a fine catch! But we shall simply go hunting for more!"

 _Master_. Diarmuid looked up. _It couldn't be...._

Ryuunosuke sauntered into view, his body tipped back with his hands behind his head, utterly relaxed and at ease as his Servant glided behind him.

Caster! Diarmuid crouched lower.

"Hey, Sir? I have a date tonight. Want to help me kill her?"

"As much as I would love to, my boy, I have many books I wish to peruse. But perhaps if you wish to bring her after..."

Which spear should he use? Diarmuid's eyes shifted from Caster to his left, and his Master to his right. His red spear, Gae Dearg, was better for long-range attacks and cancelling mana, it was long and heavy and best wielded with two hands. Furthermore, Caster was a long-range Servant who had no need for mana-woven armor, he could send something else toward him to attack. He needed something lighter, something better working at close-range.

Diarmuid's jaw tightened. Gae Buidhe, then. Quietly he manifested his golden spear.

"Wait, Ryuunosuke! A moment." Caster held up his arm. "I sensed a disturbance in the air."

Diarmuid cursed silently, and gripped his spear. Ryuunosuke ran in front Caster, excited.

"You think the guy who messed up our workshop is still here?"

"It appears so, my Master!" Caster moved around, his shadow sweeping over the wall as he walked.

"Cooool!" Ryuunosuke pumped the air with his fist, excited. "Can we kill him?"

Caster chuckled. "Of course!"

Diarmuid crouched further. It would have to be a surprise attack. He will only have one strike before they're alerted to his presence, a hit and run. He should target the Master, maximize the damage. His Servant will protect his vitals, but that protection is loose around the limbs. All he needs is one clean slice to the Achilles tendon to incapacitate him.

Ryuunosuke stepped forward, his back facing him.

Diarmuid sprang. Mana flared around his hand as he activated his Noble Phantasm. Ryuunosuke's eyes widened.

The spear brightened, then shook, a wave of black particles swirling around it. It was still under the influence of Berserker.

"Wha-"

A tentacle slammed against Diarmuid, blocking his path and throwing him against the wall.

"Oh, Ryuunosuke! It appears as though we have a Servant!"

Diarmuid groaned, blood dripping down the side of his temple. That Gae Buidhe was still corrupted had surprised him. He hadn't activated his Noble Phantasm since the night Berserker wounded him, he had not taken that into account.

"He's not very strong, is he, Sir?" Ryuunosuke sniffed, frowning. "Sir? Hey, Siiir? Is it alright if I kill him?"

"Enjoy yourself, my Master!" Caster leaned back. "He's a Servant, but he shouldn't be much of a problem."

"Coool!" Ryuunosuke said, and he pulled out a switchblade from his pocket. "I've always wanted to see if I could slice up a Servant!" and Diarmuid could see it, the flare of Caster's magic swirling up around Ryuunosuke's arm.

 

*****

 

Lancer was taking a really long time. Waver looked out the window. The sun was already starting to set, and the sky was turning pink and orange. Waver frowned and tapped his pencil on the desk, looking at the clock.

Maybe he shouldn't have sent Lancer there by himself. It's true, Lancer was stronger and hardier than most normal humans, but he was still injured. Even with the sling, it was probably difficult hefting a bag of test tubes and water around. And considering he was using his non-dominant hand to collect the specimens, it was no wonder he was taking so long...

Wait. He was using his non-dominant hand.

Waver banged his head on the table. That idiot probably broke the test tubes!

Waver was about to go into a silent tirade when he felt it. His mana was being siphoned off at an alarming rate. Waver looked around.

Was Lancer fighting? He closed his eyes, trying to contact him. Realization shot through him like an arrow.

_He's activating his Noble Phantasm!_

That idiot! Waver grabbed his pack and Lancer's sword, running toward the door.

 

*****

 

Diarmuid breathed heavily, backed up against the wall.

His arm was starting to tire out. The strain of having to wield Gae Dearg was taking a toll on him, and the muscles of his shoulders were burning. In front of him, Ryuunosuke was grinning and flicking his blade, while a throng of tentacle monsters flanked him on all sides.

Tentacles lurched forward, which Diarmuid managed to block. His red spear sliced through the meat easily, but for each tentacle he cut, two more sprang up. In front of him, Caster was holding his book, eyes closed and chanting softly.

"Siiiir! This is getting boring!" Ryuunosuke whined. "I want to cut out his eyes already!"

"Patience, my darling Master! I shall show you exactly what I can do!"

And Diarmuid's eyes widened, a swirl of red mist rising from Caster's cloak.

"Cool! Cool! Cooooooool!" Ryuunosuke said, and Diarmuid's grip on his spear tightened.

Diarmuid's spear cut through the tentacles growing and swirling around him. Diarmuid spun, the blade of Gae Dearg slicing the arms in half. Tentacles shot at him from all sides but Diarmuid whirled, his blade cutting through them with each hard strike.

He was getting tired. His arm was shaking and his mana was growing thin.

"You see, Ryuunosuke? This Servant is easy to slay!"

"Don't kill him yet!" Ryuunosuke said. "I want to tie him to the table. I want to see how long he stays alive!"

Diarmuid gritted his teeth, hefting his spear.

A flash of light. Diarmuid threw his hand up, shielding himself. In front of him, Caster screamed.

"Master! Master! My darling Master!"

"Shut up!" Waver said, and Diarmuid blinked and saw Ryuunosuke was frozen in crystal, his eyes wide and his mouth open in a startled 'o.'

" _By my command spell, Lancer! I order you to teleport with me outside and take us out of here!_ "

"My lord!" Diarmuid said. Tentacled monsters kept coming toward him but he could see Waver running toward the back. He barely had time to slash at a thick tentacle coming down from the front, barely blocking the blow.

"It isn't working!" Waver said, horrified. His command spell dissipated from his hand. "Lancer! Why isn't it working?!"

"Unforgiveable! Unforgiveable! Unforgiveable!" Caster was shaking. "How dare you hurt my darling Master! I shall cut off your head and mount your corpse on the wall!"

Tentacles battered Waver from all sides, but the shield was just barely holding. Diarmuid's head snapped forward.

"My lord! I cannot help you if you engage Caster! Please take care of yourself if you can!"

"Dammit!" Waver said, and he threw up a shield of crystal around him, blocking the path of the tentacles reaching out toward him. "Lancer!"

They were going to die here. Waver's mind spun. His Servant was being overwhelmed and he was in a magical duel against Caster! There was no way they were going to survive.

A shot rang out, slicing through the air and shattering the crystal holding Caster's Master.

"What--" Waver jerked his head up and saw Kiritsugu walking toward them, reloading his gun. The fabric of his overcoat billowed with the moment.

" _Ryuunosuke!_ " Caster let out an inhuman wail as his Master pitched forward, blood pouring from the bullet wound in his head.

Two shots, one aimed at Caster's book and the other squarely between Caster's eyes. Caster was too distraught to block.

The casings of the bullets fell around Kiritsugu's feet, Caster's body dissipating into a dustcloud of mana.

"My lord!" Lancer ran over toward Waver, helping him to his feet. "My lord, are you all right?"

"I...I think so." Waver lifted a shaky hand to his face, looking up at Kiritsugu.

"Hmph." Kiritsugu's eyes narrowed. He lit a cigarette and gave them one more look, then turned.

"O-oi!" Waver started toward him. "Thank you for helping us. We would have been goners without you. You're Saber's ally, right?"

Kiritsugu stopped. Ash from the cigarette fell onto the ground.

"Actually, I was going to let Caster kill you."

"Huh?"

"He was taking too long." He took another drag of his cigarette. "I was getting annoyed. I didn't want to keep waiting."

"O-oi!" Waver started. "Who do you think you are, saying tha--"

"I know everything about you, Waver Velvet," Kiritsugu said. "You joined this war for your reputation. To prove to those peons at the Clock Tower that you're a true magus. I've never heard of a more stupid reason to kill other magi in my life."

"Huh? How did you--"

"You're just a _boy_ ," Kiritsugu said. His eyes narrowed. "Break your pact with that Servant and go home."

He picked up his gun and held it toward him.

"Or should I save myself the aggravation and kill you now?"

Lancer stepped in front of him. "I thank you for saving us," Lancer said. "But if you threaten my Master again I shall skewer you where you stand."

"Hmph." Kiritsugu lowered his gun. "You two make quite a pair," Kiritsugu said, turning. "An idiot Servant with an idiot magus. You think you can earn your reputation here, killing and defeating other magi? You can't even protect yourself! You may be talented as a student, but on this battlefield you're nothing but an eyesore. Go _home_ ," Kiritsugu said. He tossed his cigarette and started walking, his coat swishing with the movement.

"You're lucky you're not worth the bullets."


	12. Chapter 12

They walked back to the mouth of the river. Waver was shaking a little, Kiritsugu's words echoing in his ears.

_You may be talented as a student, but on this battlefield you're nothing but an eyesore._

_You're lucky you're not worth the bullets._

Waver squeezed his eyes and hunched his shoulders, hugging himself tightly.

"Are you alright?" Lancer said.

Waver looked up. It was the first time Lancer had spoken to him directly, without the honorific. "I'm fine," Waver said. "Just a little shaken, is all."

Lancer nodded. They walked along the river in silence.

It was getting dark now. The street lights turned, yellow puddles of light illuminating the sidewalk along the bridge. Lancer carried his sword slung across his shoulder, hefting Waver's pack with his good arm. He was wearing civilian clothes again, his left arm tucked against his body with the sling, but even though he was dressed normally and injured, he still gave off an aura of confidence and quiet strength, the broad line of his shoulders catching the light from the streetlamps above him.

"We did a great deed today," Lancer said, after a long moment. Waver looked up. "You should hold your head up high. Together we have saved those children."

"I guess that's true," Waver said. Lancer nodded, vigorously.

"Indeed, with the aid of Kiritsugu, we were instrumental in the defeat of Caster! There is much to celebrate tonight."

"The nerve of that guy," Waver said. "What gives him the right to say those things to me? I'm a mage just like anyone else." Waver kicked a rock, angrily. Lancer smiled.

"Well he did save us," Lancer said. "Hard as he was, his assistance was most appreciated. We were in a tight spot."

"Well I was going to do something! I mean, sooner or later..."

"If I may interject, my lord, you should take your failures as a stepping stone. Perseverance is a virtue, after all."

Waver stopped walking. "What do you mean?" Waver said.

"Oh. I was merely suggesting that we learn from our mistakes," Lancer turned, looking at him. "You are still young, my lord. And there is a lot of room for you to grow."

"So what you're telling me is, you agree with him, right?" Waver said. Lancer furrowed his brow.

"No, my lord," Lancer said. "I was just merely--"

"You just _told_ me that I was a failure as a mage, you agreed with him!" Waver said. "I bet you wish you were with Kiritsugu or anybody else! You must be cursing your class right now because of your terrible luck!"

"No, my lord, that isn't true--"

"Well the feeling's mutual, Lancer. I'm not happy to have you either.

"I'm young and I'm inexperienced. And I am well aware. But at least I bring fresh ideas to the equation! What do you bring? Nothing but your chivalry! All you do is go on about is chivalry, chivalry, chivalry! Let me tell you, Lancer, chivalry is dead in this age! Only idiots and zealots go on about chivalry!

"And what good are you, anyway?" Waver said. "You've never won a battle and you got wounded by your own Noble Phantasm! I may be inexperienced, but what is your excuse?"

"My lord, you are angry." Lancer's voice was soft. Measured. "Please take back those words."

"What do you even know about it?!" Waver said. " _Nothing,_ that's what! No matter how bad your life got, you just kept lying to yourself! 'Oh, it wasn't so bad, it was the exuberance of youth.' That's what you kept saying!

And your brothers? The other Knights of Fianna? They only used you for your spears! If you couldn't fight, do you think they'd let you join them?

Your life sucked, you had no friends, and when you finally did make friends, you killed them for some chick who probably didn't even love you in the first place! And you're telling me it gets better?"

"She did love me," Lancer said, quietly. "Together, we were happy."

"She only loved you because of that spot! Are you really that stupid you didn't even know?!"

Waver regretted it as soon as he said it. He saw the slight tightening of Lancer's hand. He couldn't see Lancer's eyes.

"You are right." Lancer kept his eyes on the ground. "Of course you are right, my lord."

"Lancer--"

"Grainne did not love me for myself. I understood that. But I loved her enough for the both of us. I believed that would be enough."

"Lancer..."

"As for my friendships, you also speak the truth. My skills were to be prized, indeed.

False friends and false love, alone and unwanted." He gave a bitter laugh. "That is the sad life of Diarmuid Ua Duibhne."

Waver's face was pale.

"My lord. I shall remain in spirit form until you have use for me. I shall not bother you anymore with my useless prattle."

"Wait, Lancer--"

But Lancer de-materialized, a dust cloud of mana glittering, leaving Waver alone with his pack and his sword.


	13. Chapter 13

The next night, Assassin was eliminated by Rider's Noble Phantasm.

Waver leaned outside an open window, looking out into the horizon. With Caster and Assassin gone, that left five more Servants. The wind stirred, and Waver brushed back a lock of hair that was moving over his face, frowning a little and squinting his eyes.

"Waver-chan?" Martha knocked on the door. "Grandpa and I are turning in for the night."

"Oh." Waver turned. "Goodnight, Grandma."

He turned to look back out the window, but Martha hovered. She pressed her hand to the door.

"Is everything all right?" Martha said. "You just seem so quiet, lately, Grandpa and I were worried. You barely touched your dinner even though I made all your favorite food."

"Oh," Waver said. He smiled. "Sorry, Grandma. I just have a little bit of a stomachache. I'll feel better in the morning, promise."

"Well, if you're hungry tonight the leftovers are in the fridge." Martha smiled and adjusted her shawl. "Goodnight, Waver-chan."

"Goodnight, Grandma."

Martha smiled again and gently shut the door.

 

*****

 

He had tried several times to apologize to Lancer. The first time, he had waited a few hours after they had gotten back, ostensibly to give Lancer time to cool off. "Ne, Lancer," Waver said. "Can I talk to you a minute?"

 _Certainly, my lord_.

"I wanted to apologize," Waver said. "What I said to you was out of line. I'm really sorry about what happened."

Waver waited. Across from him, the clock on his desk ticked softly. It seemed as though Lancer were considering his words.

 _Please do not trouble yourself, my lord. I assure you I am fine_.

"But I'm sure I probably hurt your feelings and--" Now Waver just felt stupid. "Lancer! If you're mad at me just say so."

 _I am not mad, my lord_.

"Okay, so...?"

_Is there anything else you wish to ask of me?_

"You _are_ mad!" Waver said. He sat up, angrily. "Can't you just cut the passive-aggressive crap and talk to me?"

_My lord. There is nothing to talk about. I shall serve you to the best of my abilities. Please know that I am loyal to you and please rest easy._

It kept going on like that, every time Waver tried to apologize. Eventually Waver just gave up and resigned himself to never really talking to him again, other than to give him an order or ask the status of the other Servants.

If only Waver weren't so freaking stupid! Of _course_ Lancer would be mad, Waver basically took all his sore spots and threw them in his face.

 _I'm such an asshole_ , Waver thought, miserably. He wondered if Lancer heard that. In any case, he didn't answer.

Now Waver was staring at his hand, looking at the last command spell. He felt stupid for wasting that second one in Caster's atelier - any third-rate mage would have known Caster's territory was within a bounded field, which nullified any high magic other than Caster's own. That he blindly wasted his command spell depressed him. Kiritsugu was right - he may be an above average student, but in the Holy Grail War, against top-tier magic, he was floundering about, helplessly.

"Oi, Lancer," Waver said. "Can you come out a minute?"

Lancer materialized in front of him in a kneeling position, keeping his eyes deferentially locked on the floor. "Yes, my lord?"

"I only have one command spell left." Waver held out his hand. "Would you like me to use it?"

For a moment, Lancer seemed confused. He slowly lifted his eyes. "Use it, my lord?"

"To break our contract," Waver said. "I've been doing a lot of thinking and Kiritsugu is right. I went in this war thinking it was the perfect stage for me, a place without titles or names that could be fought with just pure ability. But I'm barely treading water," Waver said. "I'm thinking about going home."

Lancer lowered his eyes again. He kept kneeling on the floor, not saying anything.

"You told me you didn't have a wish. If that's true, then you wouldn't care if the Grail were forfeit. Do you want me to break our pact?"

"It isn't up to me, my lord." Lancer's eyes were fixed on a neutral point on the floor. "I shall abide with whatever you choose."

"But you're my partner, you have to have some say in this too," Waver said. Lancer shook his head.

"I am not your partner, my lord. I am your Servant. And as your Servant I shall support you in any way I can."

Waver frowned. He wasn't used to standing over Lancer, talking to him as he was kneeling, so as a compromise he squatted on the floor next to him. Lancer lowered his head even further.

"Okay," Waver said. "I'm going to have to think about it. But you're sure you'd be okay with forfeiting the Grail?"

"It does not matter what I think, my lord."

"Oi, Lancer. As your Master I'm asking you a question."

"And I am telling you my honest answer. Please do what you think is right."

Waver sighed. "Fine," Waver said, and he stood. "That's all I wanted to ask you."

"Thank you, my lord," Lancer said, and he shifted back into spirit form.

 

*****

 

The next night, Lancer came back an incoherent mess.

"Lancer! What's wrong?" Waver said, and the air shimmered a little, the torrents of mana coalescing into a frenzied point.

"Rider," Lancer said. He was shaking. "He was fighting Saber. And..."

"And what?" Waver said, as Lancer tried to get a hold of himself.

"And Rider was forced to kill himself."

"What?" Waver said. Lancer sat shakily on the bed.

Ever since their falling out, Lancer had started scouting. He roamed the streets of Fuyuki in spirit form, keeping track of the other Servants and Masters and reporting his findings to Waver. Waver knew it was his way to get out of the house - he was uncomfortable staying with Waver, and staying in the woods gave him too much time alone with his thoughts. He knew scouting made Lancer feel useful while at the same time giving him an excuse to remove himself from Waver's presence. And the arrangement suited Waver just fine - he also felt awkward being around Lancer.

Lancer was hovering along Fuyuki's periphery when he felt a distinct flare of mana - Saber's - along the outskirts of the city. Following it, he found Saber engaging in honorable combat with Rider, mounted upon a motorcycle and racing his chariot along the mountain freeway along the city's periphery.

But something went wrong, Saber made a hard turn, and Rider's chariot, which should have been able to easily bank, suddenly spun out, crashing into the wall.

"It was the result of Lord Kayneth's command spell, which Kiritsugu forced him to use," Lancer said. He was clearly shaken. "I have never seen a Servant self-destruct like that. I did not know that was possible."

"So Rider crashed on purpose," Waver said. Lancer lowered his head, quietly.

"There is more, my lord," Lancer said, quietly. "Kiritsugu had Lord Kayneth sign a geas, which said that Kiritsugu would not harm him or his fiancée should he have his Servant kill himself. But after it was signed, he had his subordinate shoot them."

"That guy," Waver said. Lancer was visibly shaken.

"Oi, Lancer," Waver said. "I would never use a command spell like that, even if someone threatened me! You don't have to worry about a thing like that."

"I know, my lord," Lancer said. "But that is the nature of us Servants. In the end, we are nothing more than tools to be used."

"Tools?" Waver said. Lancer hung his head.

"Ne, Lancer," Waver said, and he sat up in earnest. "I know...I know things haven't been the best between us, lately. But I want you to know I would never use you like that! You're not some tool to be used."

"I know," Lancer said, quietly. Waver watched as he stared at his hands.

"My lord," Lancer said, and he hesitated. "I apologize for the last few days. My actions were most shameful."

"You don't have anything to apologize for, Lancer! I was the one who was out of line," Waver said.

"No, my lord," Lancer said. "As a Servant, I failed you numerous times. By my pride and vainglory, I refused to see that. I served you with an empty obedience these last few days. By my honor, I truly apologize."

"Lancer," Waver said. Lancer shook his head.

"You were right, my lord," Lancer said. "I have not won any battles and I did indeed fall by my own Noble Phantasm. I let my pride as a man stand in the way of serving you to my utmost. Having seen Kiritsugu, and how he treats Saber, a most honorable and loyal spirit, has made me realize what a good Master I have, and how disloyal I've been to you. Please, my Master. Accept my apologies. I do no honor by failing you."

"You shouldn't be the one apologizing, Lancer! I should be! I was really out of line! I'm really sorry for saying those things."

"My Master, I disagree. It is a lord's duty to discipline his vassal when he is in the wrong. You spoke the truth, but my pride got bruised. Please forgive me for my blunders."

"Lancer," Waver said, standing. "What I said to you was unforgiveable. You had every right to be angry with me."

"You are my lord, I have no right to be angry," Lancer said. Waver huffed, annoyed.

"Well what if I was one of your brothers?" Waver said. "What if I were another knight? Would you get angry, then?"

Lancer hesitated. "...I suppose."

"And what would you do? Yell back? Duel them?"

"I--"

"You'd punch them in the face, right?"

"Er, perhaps--"

"Then it's settled," Waver said. He crossed his arms.

"I want you to hit me."

Lancer blinked. "My lord?"

"Punch me in the face, Lancer! I feel really bad about what happened and it's the only way we'll be even!"

"I don't think you want me to do that," Lancer said, doubtfully.

"Dammit, Lancer! Your Master is giving you an order!" Waver said. "Kick my ass, if you want to! Just...do it quickly before I get too scared."

"Um." Lancer blinked again, "Very well..." and he gently tapped his knuckles against Waver's shoulder.

"Are you serious?" Waver said.

"This is most unusual," Lancer said.

"Come on!" Waver said. "Clock me in the face! Whack my teeth out! You Devil's leftie...you stupid pretty boy!"

(Ugh, even when Waver tried to taunt someone, he just came across as sounding really whiny. Lancer looked confused.)

"Grainne was a whore," Waver said.

 _Crack!_ A strike to the face. Waver pitched sideways, Lancer punching him faster and harder than anything Waver had ever felt in his entire life. He struck him with such force that Waver spun a little as he was knocked off his feet, his hair flying up as his head whacked the ground.

"Ow!" Waver said. Blood dripped down his nose and shoulder.

"My lord!" Lancer seemed shocked that he had punched him so hard. "Are you all right?"

"Owww."

"I fear your nose may be broken."

Waver held his nose with one hand and waved his other hand around, vaguely. "You...really love Grainne, huh?"

"My apologies," Lancer said, and he helped Waver up.

"For what it's worth, Lancer, I don't think she was a whore."

"I know, my lord."

"But geez, you punched me really hard."

"Forgive me, my lord."


	14. Chapter 14

Night fell over the little house in Fuyuki, and while Martha and Glen slept quietly Diarmuid sat by the window, looking out into the blue-grey darkness. His Master was asleep, having healed himself from the punch a few days earlier; he watched as Waver turned, strands of long dark hair falling over his face, the sheets of the bed rustling with the movement. There was no reason for Diarmuid to take physical form right now, but somehow he felt more at ease manifested like this - as if he could guard his Master better, somehow.

The hours passed in silence, and slowly the blue haze of early night gave way to an inky stillness. It was then that his Master began to stir, squeezing his eyes and shifting under the covers.

"I thought I told you to wake me when it's night," Waver said, and Diarmuid turned to look at him, quietly.

"Forgive me, my lord. But tonight I felt we should take more care with our preparations."

"Why?" Waver said.

"Well, it is just a feeling, my lord. But I believe everything will reach its conclusion tonight."

His body was silhouetted against the window, the orange light from the streetlamp framing his body like a portrait. He moved gracefully from the window sill to a standing position, squinting his eyes.

"The night seems too still," Diarmuid said. "I can't help but think that something will happen."

"You're probably right," Waver said. He pushed off the covers and stood. "There are only four of us pairings left-- huh?"

There was a flash, sudden bursts of brilliant light.

"What was that?" Waver said. He and Diarmuid ran outside.

Outside, the sky lit up like Christmas, flashes of green and red glittering above them. "What is that?" Diarmuid said. "Fireworks?" Waver squinted his eyes and silently counted the code.

"That pattern. Four and seven, in different colors. 'Victory' and 'success.' Does that mean the Grail War is over?"

"No, that cannot be right," Diarmuid said. "For one thing, there are still three other Servants. And also the direction is not from the Church."

"So someone else is sending it, then," Waver said. "But why?"

"I believe it is a challenge, my lord." Diarmuid looked up, watching the fireworks bursting above him. "It is probably meant to lure us Servants out. It may very well be a trap."

Waver furrowed his brow and frowned.

"What should we do, Lancer?" Waver said.

"The prudent thing may be to wait it out. If there is more fighting to be done, we could wait until the crowd further thins out."

"...But?" Waver said.

"But there are times when striking first gives the greatest advantage. If we fail to act, we may find ourselves cornered later."

"So what do you think we should do?" Waver said. Diarmuid considered.

"I believe we should bring the battle to them."

 

******

 

They leapt in the direction of the fireworks, Lancer hoisting Waver on his back and leaping far across the buildings. Waver held on with his arms around Lancer's neck, too tense about the upcoming battle to feel embarrassed traveling this way. Lancer sprang forward, his body cutting through the air like an arrow, and Waver squinted his eyes at the feel of the wind rushing against his face.

"Lancer! Prepare yourself!" Saber said. Lancer and Waver turned.

The strike came from nowhere. Lancer barely managed to block, grabbing his sword, while Waver tumbled backwards, whacking his shoulder against the pavement. He scrambled backwards, crouching on the ground while Saber attacked.

"Where is Irisviel?" Saber said, savagely.

"Saber, I have no idea!" Diarmuid said.

"Do not lie to me, knave! I saw you take her with my own eyes!"

The strike came down hard, Diarmuid just barely managing to block. Saber swung, slashing wildly. She shoved her blade hard against his, a finger's breadth from Diarmuid's neck. "I ask you again, Lancer," Saber said, the weight of her body leaning into her sword. "Where is Irisviel?"

She pressed harder. The blade of his rapier bending under her weight.

"Lancer!" Waver threw out his arm.

Diarmuid's eyes widened. His sword glowed, a torrent of mana swirling up his arm.

_"You can use this sword to fight, but you won't be able to charge it with mana. If you need to use any special moves you'll still have to materialize your spears...."_

Understanding dawned on him: Caster did this for his Master, and Waver must have seen him. His head snapped back toward Waver, who was gritting his teeth and concentrating, hard.

His sword wouldn't break, not when his Master was reinforcing it with magecraft. He felt a surge of mana vaulting upwards, and he broke her hold, slamming his sword against hers and pushing her back on the defensive.

"So you fancy yourself a swordsman, Lancer," Saber said, and the invisible air thrust upwards around her sword, a tornado of spiraling energy revealing her golden blade. "Allow me to show you what a real swordsman can do."

She lunged, a barely controlled burst of power, a yellow flash of the blade, cutting through the air. He blocked and blocked again, his right arm swinging, blocking her strikes, before countering with a hard thrust. Saber gritted down and threw the weight of her body forward, the blade of Excalibur whacking into the side of the rapier.

"Lancer!" Waver said.

"Where is she?" Saber said. She struck, then struck again. "Where is she, Lancer?! Answer me!"

"I do not know!" Diarmuid said. "Saber! Servants cannot lie! You know this to be true!"

Saber slammed her sword into his blade, pushing him back. Each swing closer to cutting him, her movements growing stronger, overwhelming him.

A hard strike, and his sword went flying. She stepped near Diarmuid and pointed her blade.

"The advantage is mine, Lancer," Saber said. "I shall give you one last chance. Tell me where is Irisviel, and I may deign to let you live."

She pressed the tip of her blade against Diarmuid's neck. A bead of blood welled up at the tip. Diarmuid swallowed, breathing hard.

"Do what you will with me, Saber. But on my honor, I do not know."

Saber looked at him one long moment. Her eyes narrowed.

She dropped her hand, lowering her sword.

Waver ran toward them. "Lancer! Are you okay?"

"I am fine, my lord," Diarmuid said. He rubbed his neck, gingerly. "Thankfully, Saber believed me."

"Lancer, I am sorry," Saber said, and she released her mana, her armor giving way to her suit underneath. "I have been in pursuit of Irisviel these last few hours and I believed you to be the culprit."

"Wait, what?" Waver said. "Lancer's been with me. We didn't have anything to do with it."

"If it were anyone else, I would not believe you," Saber said. "But I saw it with my own eyes. A man who looked like Lancer kidnapped Irisviel, this I know for sure."

"Shapeshifting magic," Waver said. "That's got to be the answer. But which of the Servants can do that?"

"Archer and Berserker are the only Servants left besides the two of us," Diarmuid said. Waver nodded.

"So it must have been Berserker," Waver said.

Saber's mouth thinned.

"Lancer," Saber said. "I hate to ask you this now, as I was intent on killing you only a few short moments ago. But is there any chance you would entertain an alliance?"

Diarmuid and Waver glanced at each other.

"I know not where my Master is, two other Servants roam the area and Irisviel's whereabouts are thus unknown. It vexes me, but I require further assistance."

"Fine," Diarmuid said. "But why ally with us? You know we seek the Grail as well."

"I suppose when the time comes, we shall have to engage in honorable combat. But for now I have no one else I can trust."

Diarmuid glanced at Waver. "It's up to you," Waver said. Diarmuid nodded.

"Then we would be happy to help," Diarmuid said. Saber nodded, solemnly.

"I thank you again, my friend," Saber said. "Forgive me for attacking you."

"You were protecting your lord. There is nothing to forgive," Diarmuid said. Saber gave him an understated nod.

"The lights of victory were shot outside the Fuyuki Municipal Building. I believe Irisviel may be there."


	15. Chapter 15

"There's something wrong," Waver said, as Saber and Lancer walked into the parking garage. "I feel a strange flow of mana. There might be a Servant around here."

Saber and Lancer looked around. At night, the parking garage was like a dark cave, the concrete columns looming high and casting long shadows onto the pavement. Their footsteps echoed as they walked, the soft metal sounds of Saber's armor clanging with each movement.

Waver's eyes widened. "Saber!"

The explosion rocked the parking garage, the force from the blast throwing Saber and Lancer against the wall.

Berserker roared, a hurtling black shape bursting through flames.

"Lancer! Take your Master and look for Irisviel! I shall hold Berserker here!"

They ran up the stairwell, feet pounding on the metal steps. With Lancer's wounded arm and metal sword, Waver knew Lancer would be no match for Berserker in his current state. They would have to face Archer, and even though the thought of having to go up against him made Waver break out in a cold sweat, he knew there might be a chance, especially if Saber managed to kill Berserker.

"My lord, she is here!" Lancer said, and they pushed open the doors of the auditorium.

The doors swung open. The seats of the auditorium seemed to converge on a single point, drawing their eyes to the figure lying prostrate on the stage. Irisviel was lying with her hands folded on her chest, her face the perfect picture of repose. Quietly, Lancer leapt forward, taking two quick bounded steps, before alighting gracefully near the stage in front of him.

Lancer stepped close, and pressed his hand to the pulse-point of Irisviel's neck.

"She's dead," Lancer said. Waver ran toward them. He pressed his hand to Irisviel's neck, his eyes widening at the coldness of her skin beneath his fingers. "My lord. What will you have me do?"

"I don't know," Waver said. There was a sound. They both looked behind them, startled.

"Well, well. I was hoping to see Saber here so that she may bask in the light of my infinite glory! But instead I see two mongrels daring to steal my treasure." Gilgamesh's eyes narrowed.

"Archer," Waver said. Lancer ran in front of him, grabbing his sword and taking a stance. Gilgamesh's mouth stretched into a smile.

"Ho? What's this? You dare challenge me with that pathetic scrap of metal?" Gilgamesh said, and circles of light appeared behind him. "How unsightly. But perhaps you will entertain me while I wait for Saber."

Weapons shot out. Mana swirled around Lancer's blade as he blocked them, metal clanging against metal and knocking them from the air.

"Reinforcement magecraft?" Gilgamesh laughed, delighted, as Lancer swung and Waver held out his arm, a bead of sweat dripping down Waver's forehead. "Oh! But perhaps you mongrels _are_ good enough to pass the time! Bask in it, you worms. Your King has proclaimed you worth!"

"King of Heroes, we have no quarrel with you!" Lancer said. He landed, one arm swung upward, crouching on the ground and holding up his sword. "I beg of you to let my Master pass!"

"I do not remember giving you permission to speak," Gilgamesh said, and a weapon shot out, catching the side of Lancer's thigh.

"Lancer!" Waver said, and he healed him.

"Thank you, my lord, the healing was effective." Lancer picked up his sword.

"'My lord'?" Gilgamesh said. "You dare call that worm your lord while standing in the presence of your King?"

More weapons shot out, stronger weapons with heavier blades. Lancer ran, blocking their path, swinging his arm as the blade of his rapier bent with the movement. Waver's reinforcement magic was growing thin. "Unforgiveable!" Gilgamesh said. "Count your blessings, worm! For I, Gilgamesh, the one true king and only king who has ever existed, will personally repay your insolence with your death!"

"Watch out!" Waver said, as a storm of weapons came barreling toward him. Lancer swung, gritting his teeth and dodging the onslaught. The rapier clanged, the blade bending. Waver's magecraft stretching tight around him.

"You may struggle and you may writhe, and you may try to climb heights more worthy of my greatness! But know that you are just a worm, a worthless insect not fit to crawl around my planet, and that the pinnacle of your life will be when I, the King of Heroes, will strike from on high and snuff out your worthless existence!"

"Lancer!" Waver said, and the blade to Lancer's rapier snapped in half. Lancer's eyes widened.

A shot, slamming through Lancer's right arm, the force of it throwing Lancer's body back. He slammed heavily onto the ground.

"Die," Gilgamesh said, and the array of circles turned toward Lancer, countless speartips aiming at him.

Weapons launched forward. Waver watched as if everything was moving in slow motion. Gilgamesh stood, silhouetted by the glowing gold of the Gates of Babylon, as Lancer crouched beneath him, weapons hurtling toward him in every direction.

And then Waver saw it: the sudden blast of mana, an explosion of light enveloping him. Gilgamesh's eyes widened as his weapons were caught and disintegrated in the blast, a sudden surge of power from the release of the cursed wound on Lancer's left hand. Because beneath them, in the parking garage, Saber had just killed Berserker.

"What is this," Gilgamesh said. Lancer stood, holding both his spears. A haze of golden mana was still glittering around his left arm.

"It seems I'm finally back at my full strength," Lancer said. He took a stance, holding both his spears. "Prepare yourself, King of Heroes. For I shall have to entertain you further."

"Lancer," Waver said. Lancer stood in front of him, the light from the Gates of Babylon silhouetting his body. Lancer had been injured for so long that Waver had forgotten what he was supposed to be like: power and beauty and barely coiled strength, the line of his body curved and ready to spring.

He burst forward, an explosion of muscle and power, striking and slamming into Gilgamesh's weapons. He moved, both spears in hand, all unimaginable speed and strength and surging gyroscope rotation, the slash of a globe spinning about its axis. Breaking free from the onslaught of weapons, Lancer sprinted toward him, spears ready to strike, leaping forward with all the agility of his class.

And Gilgamesh's eyes widened when he realized Lancer was surging toward him, Gae Dearg and Gae Buidhe activated, the red spear to cancel the mana of his armor, the golden spear to curse his wound.

But the chains whipped out, slamming into Lancer.

"Lancer!" Waver said. One chain wrapped around Lancer's neck; another around his waist and still more around the wrists of his hands.

"Enkidu, the Chains of Heaven, named after my dearest and only friend." Gilgamesh stepped forward, his golden armor clanking with the movement. "To think I had to use it on the likes of you is unforgiveable."

 _Gae Dearg_. Diarmuid craned his neck, his fingers stretching out to brush against the body of his red spear.

"Oh? You want this?" Gilgamesh said, and one well-placed weapon shot out, knocking it away from him. "A cursed spear that cancels mana. Something so ugly it offends me you'd use it on Enkidu."

"Please, King of Heroes," Diarmuid said. "Do with me what you will, but let my Master go."

"You beg for my mercy after your insolence? Your lack of manners is astonishing."

And another weapon shot out, catching Diarmuid in the shoulder.

"Lancer!"

"Master, stay back!" Diarmuid said. He craned his neck toward Waver. "Please get yourself to safety if you can!"

"You are beginning to bore me," Gilgamesh said, and an array of golden circles open around him. "Die like the worm that you are."

Diarmuid's eyes widened.

The weapon slammed into Waver's back, knocking him sideways. Blood dripped onto Diarmuid's arm.

"My lord!" Diarmuid's eyes were wide. Waver had jumped in front of him, taking the brunt of the blow.

Waver coughed, crouching on top of him. He shielded him with his body, wrapping his shoulders with his arms.

"Ho? What is this? A Master protecting his Servant?" Gilgamesh's mouth stretched into a grin. "Wonders never cease to amaze."

"L-Lancer..." Waver coughed. The sword had ripped through his shoulder, probably puncturing a lung, but nothing else vital. All Waver could think of was how much it hurt, his ribs cracking with the effort to breathe.

"My lord!" Lancer said. He struggled through his chains. "Why? Why did you do that? You could have escaped! You could have left me--"

"You really are...an idiot...you know that?"

Waver struggled to talk, the pain in his chest growing from the blood filling his collapsed lung.

"I was just thinking....If he killed you, he'd kill me anyway...and if we were going to die....I didn't want to die being protected...it was my own fight...after all.

And you were always being used, Lancer...." Waver coughed. "I thought maybe this one time....it'd be nice if you weren't."

"My lord," Lancer said. His face was stricken. Waver smiled.

"I was always a crappy mage, anyway," Waver said. "This is the best I can do."

His hand shook as he lifted it, the pain knifing through Waver's shoulder.

" _By my command spell, Lancer. I order you to save yourself_."

The command spell flashed. Lancer looked like he wanted to cry.

"There," Waver said. "I gave you the last of my mana. Use it to help Saber, if you can."

"How unsightly," Gilgamesh said, and he pointed his weapons toward them. "As if I'd let that dog live long enough to ally with Saber."

"I guess this is goodbye," Waver said, and the Gates of Babylon flooded open.

Weapons shot out.

Waver shut his eyes.

 

*****

 

Blood spattered on the wall, the speartip of Gilgamesh's weapon slicing through warm flesh.

But the crest of blood that bloomed was on Lancer's armor.

Waver's eyes widened. Lancer had grabbed Waver, and with the inhuman speed and strength of a Servant, had thrown him down and covered him with his body, the chains of Enkidu going slack as he shielded him and took the brunt of the blow.

"Lancer! Why?" Waver said. "I used a command spell! You should have saved yourself! _Why_?"

Gilgamesh watched silently, letting the Gates of Babylon close as Lancer coughed and slumped in front of his Master, the chains of Enkidu dissipating around him.

"I would never forgive myself if I abandoned my lord." Lancer smiled. "This was the only way I could save myself."

"You idiot! Why did you do that for? I already made my decision! I was ready to die in this war, I wasn't going to use you like that! I made a promise..." Tears filled Waver's eyes.

"Lancer!" Waver sobbed. "I promised you I wouldn't use you!"

"My sweet, foolish Master." A trickle of blood dripped down the corner of his mouth. "I told you already. In this life, I only wished to serve by your side."

"Idiot!" Waver said. Tears rolled down the side of his face. "You stupid freaking idiot! Why do you always have to sacrifice yourself? Don't you know people care about you?"

Lancer sagged against Waver's chest, and Waver hugged him, gripping the side of Lancer's waist. He could feel Lancer's uneven breathing, the muscles of his back warm and solid and covered with blood.

"You know, my lord. I think I've found my wish."

"Huh?" Waver's eyes snapped open. Lancer breathed hard, and smiled.

"If I could make one wish, it would be that you live to your utmost. Please do not make the same mistakes I made."

"Lancer," Waver said, and a tear rolled down his face. He wiped his eyes and nodded.

"I promise," Waver said. "I won't take for granted the people I love."

"Good," Lancer said, and he smiled.

"My lord, I have never been so happy," Lancer said, and his body began to fade. "For my lord told me he cares about me...."

And Lancer's body faded, Lancer smiling and closing his eyes.

 

*****

 

Waver was alone, blood dripping from the wound in his shoulder. Gilgamesh had been watching the whole scene unfold before him silently, hovering a little while Waver cried over his Servant's body. It wasn't until Lancer disappeared that Gilgamesh stepped forward, the golden plates of his armor jangling quietly.

The boy didn't move, didn't make any sound, as Gilgamesh approached.

_How can I be silent, how can I rest, when Enkidu, whom I love, is dust, and I too shall die, and be laid in the earth forever?_

"A beautiful tale of friendship, not unlike my own," Gilgamesh said, and Waver lifted his eyes. "You would do well not to forget it."

"You're not going to kill me?" A question that would normally lead to his death, but Gilgamesh regarded him, quietly.

"No," Gilgamesh said, and he shifted into spirit form, golden mana glittering, as the boy fell back on his knees and started to cry.


	16. Chapter 16

In the end, no one had won the Grail.

The fire had spread quicker than anyone had anticipated, and Waver would not have made it out alive were it not for Kiritsugu, dragging his body through the ashes and collapsing beneath the coal-black sky. The Grail, it seemed, was corrupt, and as thick drops of sulfur rain sizzled against the burning pavement, Waver couldn't help but think, _how annoying_ , lying on his back and looking upwards, rain sliding down his dirt-smudged face like tears. 

Across from him, Kiritsugu dug through the rubble, swallowed by smoke and falling on his knees. Waver turned his head, looking at the glint of a broken sword lying in the corner, and thought to himself that this was some kind of sick joke, and that the universe was messing with them. It probably the stupidest thing he'd ever seen.

 

*****

 

Life went on at the Clock Tower, as it always did.

Professor Archibald's office was in disarray, stacks and stacks of research strewn haphazardly in his office. His research was oblique and difficult to understand, and the other magi gave up making sense of the papers that were strewn on his desk, opting to collect the papers into boxes and heft them into storage. It wasn't until Waver volunteered to take over looking at the papers that his research was taken up again, the irony of Professor Archibald's least talented student taking over his life's work certainly not lost on him.

He kept Lancer's sword in the corner of his room, along with the precious few other items Lancer had left behind: the black medical sling, the thermos, a pair of left-handed scissors. The sword had been snapped in half by Gilgamesh, but it didn't take long for Waver to repair it. After the war, Waver had returned back to his room and was dismayed to see how little things had changed. He was hoping to see some proof of Lancer's life there, but other than the sling and the sword Waver had gotten him, it was as though Lancer was never there.

 

*****

 

He visited the Mackenzies in the summer, using the summer break to catch up and help them around the house. Glen had long ago figured out that Waver wasn't really their grandson, but he didn't seem to care one way or the other, smiling and welcoming Waver back as if he were family. "Martha is planting tomatoes," Glen would say, and Waver would join them out in the backyard, sitting in the warm sunlight and hefting a basket of vegetables into the house.

He was sitting at the counter, his hands wrapped around a mug of coffee, when Martha came back inside, dusting her hands off on her apron.

"Waver-chan, be a dear and help me with these boxes," Martha said, and Waver stood, dutifully lifting boxes and opening the door to the attic. With both hands hefting the box, he didn't bother turning on the light, taking the staircase to the upper floor before hefting the boxes against the wall. There was a wedge of light that cut through an oval window above him, and in the light Waver could see motes of dust floating in the air.

"How is school going?" Martha asked, and Waver set down another box, wiping the side of his forehead with the back of his hand.

"It's okay," Waver said, and he started moving another box. "I actually took over one of my professor's research projects."

"Oh really? How nice!" Martha said, and Waver smiled.

He walked out into the livingroom, and stopped when he saw it: a small golden cross, mounted on the wall. "When did you get this?" Waver said, and Martha stepped behind him and smiled.

"Oh, we've always had it," Martha said. "I just recently found it in the attic. I thought it was time to put it out." Martha smiled.

"Waver-chan, have I ever told you about that time I saw an angel?"

"Angel?" Waver said. Martha smiled.

"Well. He might not have been an angel, but he certainly had the aura of one." Martha looked up, remembering. "I was walking up the stairs and you and Grandpa were away. My bad hip froze - I couldn't move, and there was no one there to help me."

"What happened?" Waver said. Martha smiled.

"My angel came and helped me," Martha said. "He was suddenly inside the house, even though the doors were locked, there was no way anyone could have gotten inside. I should have been frightened - he was a stranger, after all - but he was so kind, I knew he wouldn't do me any harm. He was there exactly when I needed help, and when I turned around, he was gone."

"Grandma!" Waver said. "You can't just trust weird people to help you out like that! Especially if he was in your house! What if he was a burglar?" Waver said. Martha laughed, softly.

"That's exactly what your Grandpa said," Martha said, winking. "But he was such a beautiful man. I remember, his arm was in a sling, but he was still able to carry me up the rest of the stairs."

"Wait, he had a sling?" Waver said. Martha nodded.

"Yes, a black sling. He had injured his arm. And I know what you're going to say," Martha said. "'Angels can't get injured!' But he was, and he still carried me like a princess that day!" Martha giggled, delighted with the memory.

And Waver shook his head and laughed, because only an idiot would try to princess-carry someone with an injured arm.

 

end.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate shippy/smutty happy ending for them [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4917745) :)
> 
> Excerpts about Diarmuid's time on the run with Grainne [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5005345/chapters/11501068).


End file.
